BOHEMIA 


Jure/  /a-vme<&i  heed* fcut 


in 

BOHEMIA  jCy 

JAMES  CLWH7C E  HARVEY 


Illustrations  by 
A-MucHA 

OutCWLT 


H-M'CALDWELL    CO 

JVe vV  York  -  Bos  tot} 


M.Mucha 


Copyright,  1905 
BY  H.  M.  CALDWELL  Co. 


DEDICATION 


O  you  whose  footsteps,  long  be 
fore  my  own, 
Have    trod    Bohemia's    paths 

and  found  them  fair, 
To    you    whose    souls    shall 

find  them  free  from  care, 
Long  after  my  contented  soul 

has  flown, 
But,    more    than    all,    to    you 

whose    lives    have    grown 
Close  knit  to  mine,  its  grief 

and  joy  to  share, 
Whose  smiles  made  light  the 

burdens  all  must  bear, 
And  never  yet,  for  bread  have  given  a  stone. 

To  you  I  may  inscribe  what  here  is  writ 
Of  knights  Bohemian,  in  the  pleasant  past, 
vii 


DEDICATION 

With  hopes  for  repetition  near  at  hand. 
If  aught  is  cribbed,  what  scribe  will  kick  a  bit, 
To  read  again  of  hours  too  sweet  to  last? 
On   common   ground,   Bohemia's    children 
stand. 

J.  C.  H. 


VI 11 


INTRODUCTION 

OHEMIA  is  not  a  place.  It  is  an 
atmosphere.  It  is  as  subtle  as  elec 
tricity  and  as  changeable  as  a 
woman's  smile.  It  may  exist  at  the 
banquets  of  the  opulent,  or  it  may 
flourish  at  the  table  d'hote  of  the  compara 
tively  poverty-stricken,  for  we  are  only  rich 
or  poor  by  comparison. 

You  may  find  it  to-night  where  corks  are 
popping  and  not  counted,  and  to-morrow,  like 
the  smoke  of  yesterday's  cigar,  it  has  floated 
away. 

Even  in  the  Quartier  Latin  of  Paris,  where 
it  is  supposed  to  reach  its  perihelion,  you  may 
seek  for  it  in  vain,  for  there  are  those  who 
mistake  rudeness,  soiled  linen  of  table  or  per 
son,  sour  wine  and  a  loosely  tied  neckerchief 
for  Bohemianism. 

They  want  to  be  known  as  Bohemians,  and 
ix 


INTRODUCTION 

the  eagerness  to  be  known  defeats  their  pur 
pose. 

As  mighty  Mars  sprang,  full-statured  and 
full-armoured  in  an  hour  from  the  head  of 
Minerva,  so  Bohemia  suddenly  springs  to  life 
when  least  expected  in  the  most  unforeseen 
surroundings. 

Bohemia  is  not  synonymous  with  license, 
nor  intoxication,  nor  immorality,  but  it  learns 
to  look  upon  the  foibles  of  fate  and  the  powers 
of  chance  with  a  philosophic  eye. 

Where  there  is  a  saturation  of  the  air  with 
mixed  intelligences,  where  genius,  talent, 
ability,  and  appreciation  fill  with  magnetic 
receptivity  the  hearts  and  minds  and  souls 
of  men  and  women,  and  where  breadth  of 
thought  and  the  sincerity  of  the  hour  stamp 
vivid  pictures  upon  the  page  of  memory,  there 
is  Bohemia. 

Bohemia  is  not  ostentatious.  It  is  uncon 
scious.  Here  and  there  little  Bohemias  spring 
into  being,  through  the  natural  cohesion  of 
congenial  spirits,  and  the  unconsciousness  of  it 
all  charms  and  stimulates. 

x 


INTRODUCTION 

But,  man  is  a  social  animal,  and  he  loves 
to  bring  others  to  browse  where  fields  green 
and  pastures  new  have  been  discovered.  So, 
gradually  those  who  take  in,  but  do  not  give 
out,  creep  in,  ostentation  rears  its  hydra  head, 
the  lute  is  rift,  and  the  notes  no  longer  ring 
true.  Then  the  true  spirit  of  Bohemianism 
flies  out  at  the  window. 

There  are  as  many  grades  in  Bohemia  as 
there  are  shades  of  purple.  There  isn't  much 
royal  purple. 

It  is  a  sure  sign  that  Bohemian  atmosphere 
is  creeping  in  when  it  becomes  necessary  to 
engage  your  dinner  or  supper  table  ahead  of 
the  hour.  Where  it  exists,  there  will  the 
hunters  for  pleasure  congregate.  All  classes 
love  its  mysterious,  revivifying  touch,  no  mat 
ter  how  strenuously  they  may  deny  any  famil 
iarity  with  it.  They  may  say  that  they  go  to 
look  on,  but  ere  they  are  aware  their  names  are 
in  the  cast. 

The  abandonment  of  youth  at  sixteen  or 
sixty,  and  even  the  exhilaration  of  wine,  bring 
only  lenient  smiles  in  Bohemia,  if  its  king  is 

xi 


INTRODUCTION 

on  the  throne  untrammelled  by  self-appointed 
prime  ministers. 

The  manufactured  Bohemian  is  an  impossi 
bility.  The  true  Bohemian  is  the  child  of 
Nature  and  Human  Nature. 

These  pages  are  intended  to  reflect  and 
radiate,  simply,  a  few  of  the  million  atmos 
pheres  in  a  reminiscent  way. 

Here  and  there,  a  line  or  a  rhyme  or  an 
incident  will  recall  some  similar  experience, 
and,  in  living  it  over  again,  the  reader  will 
thank  the  publisher  for  reawakened  delight. 

That's  all. 


xn 


Menu 


Cocktails 


What  Is  Bohemia  ?  p.  ]!)  The  Bohemian,  p.  26 

The  Morning  After,  p.  30 


put  tree 

©n  tijc  Jpalf 
Pearl  and  the  Oyster,  p.  35 

Art,  Fin  de  Sie'cle,  p.  40 

Rector's  After  the  Play,  p.  41 

flotage 

En  tijc  Soup 

Hungarian  Goulash  on  the  East  Side,  p.  45 
When  Mabel  Pours  the  Tea,  p.  51 

There  Never  Was  a  Man,  p.  53 


The  Little  Widow  at  Old  Maria's,  p.  57 
Haunted,  p.  66  A  Toast,  p.  08 

Bclctoe 

3ust  on  the  StUe 
The  Tale  of  a  Hansom  Horse,  p.  71 

Modern  Marriages,  p.  81 

A  Pupil  of  Charcot,  p.  82 


31  lltttlc  JFtshu 

A  Bohemian  Night  in  Cairo,  p.  89 

The  First  Flirtation,  p.  92 

The  Lambs'  Club.  p.  97 


H>attterne 

Claremont  for  Breakfast,  p.  105 

The  Point  of  View.  p.  109 

A  Ve-y  Unusual  Girl,  p.  113 


(Entree 

iScttoern 
Slumming  in  Chinatown,  p.  117 

Over  the  Rose,  p.  122 

Out  of  the  Long  Ago,  p.  123 

Koti 


Little  Hungary  and  the  Boulevard,  p.  131 
The  Bachelor  Tax,  p.  134 

Slumming,  p.  137 

Champagne 

Bohemianism  at  Madison  Square,  p.  141 

A  Toast  to  the  Man's  Man,  p.  145 

They  Met  in  the  Rain,  p.  147 

(BlbitV 

<&  Iltttle  (Gamcg 

La  Vie  Parisienne,  p.  151     The  Five  Senses,  p.  154 
The  Ways  of  the  Manicure  Maid,  p.  155 


the 

The  Cashier  at  Macari's,  p.  159 
The  Real  Thing,  p.  168 

Un  Petit  Salon,  p.  171 

With  the  Punch,  p.  176 

Dear  Little  Dutch,  p.  176 


an! 

Ban  Breaks  anH  Excuses 

Cafe  des  Ambassadeurs,  p.  179         The  Brat,  p.  181 
The  Strollers,  p.  184  Injured  Innocence,  p.  187 


Cobacco 

ILittlc 


The  Pleiades,  p.  191 


My  Pipe,  p.  193 


CorUtale 

Cafe  des  Beaux  Arts.  p.  197 

A  Toast  to  To-night,  p.  199 

The  Bowery  of  Damascus,  p.  £00 
Jamais  !  Tout  la  Vie,  p.  203 

The  Last  Bohemian,  p.  206 


WHEN,  with  a 
friend,  you 
share  your  cup 
of  wine, 

The  senses  five 
unite,  in  joy  di 
vine. 

The  sense  of 
sight,  within  the 
depths  so  dim, 

The  sense  of 
hearing,  in  the 
clink  or  rim. 

The  sense  of 
touch,  that  trem 
bles  on  the  lips, 

The  sense  of 
taste,  in  count 
less  little  sips. 

The  sense  of 
smell,  as  through 
the  rich  bouquet, 

You  pledge  long 
life  and  health 
for  many  a  day. 


"I'd  rather  live  in  Bohemia,  than  any  other 
land  " 


IN  BOHEMIA 


WHAT  IS   BOHEMIA.? 

What  is  Bohemia?    Tis  the  mystic  land, 
Where   kindred   souls   can   grasp   the    friendly 

hand, 
Where    business    cares,    like    flitting    shadows 

pass 

And  disappear  above  the  social  glass, 
Where   doubts  and  fears,  that  all   our  pleas 
ures  mar, 

Float  off  in  clouds  of  smoke  from  your  cigar. 
It  is  a  realm  where  every  man  is  king 
And  friendship's  smile  a  princely  offering. 
This  is  Bohemia,  where  your  differences  end 
And  life  begins  anew  as  friend  to  friend. 
19 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"  I'd  rather  live  in  Bohemia  than  in  any  other 

land," 
So  spake  the  soul  of  the  poet,  with  the  touch 

of  a  master  hand. 
The   dear,  old,  white-haired   singer   is   at   rest 

beneath  the  sod, 
But   that   which    was   best    and    brightest,   his 

song  soul,  now  with  God, 
Can  never  die  in  Bohemia,  for  he  laid  before 

her  shrine, 
A  wreath  of  rhyme  immortal,  with  the  burst  of 

a   thought   divine. 

He  linked  all  the  past  and  present  in  a  glori 
ous  to-day, 
And   warm  hearts   beating  truly,   he   crowned 

with  a  wreath  of  bay. 
And  for  us  who  knew  him  and  loved  him,  what 

else  is  there  left  to  do, 
But  to   stand   here   to-night   in    Bohemia,  and 

swear  that  his  words  rang  true? 

This  is  the  real  Bohemia,  where  a  bit  of  paste 
board   white, 


20 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  —  a    name  —  is    enough    to    gather    the 

friends  that  you  see  to-night. 
This  is  the  real  Bohemia,  where  a  joke  must 

have  its  point, 
And  a  jest  that  is  only  vulgar  means  a  man's 

nose  out  of  joint. 
The  vagabonds   of  Bohemia  we  recognize   as 

we  should, 
But  they  dare  not  cross  these  portals  till  the 

vagabonds  make  good. 

Wealth  is  a  thing  we  covet,  Fame  is  a  thing 
to  prize, 

Pride  is  a  sovereign  master,  when  it  shines 
from  beauty's  eyes; 

Love  and  the  dreams  of  passion,  through  life 
must  play  their  parts, 

But  the  golden  glow  of  Bohemia  is  the  Sun, 
that  warms  our  hearts. 

There  are  those  who  say  Bohemia  is  not  what 
the  poet  sings, 

That  Bohemia's  ten  commandments  are  frag 
ile,  delicate  things. 


21 


IN  BOHEMIA 

They  speak  of  the  ten  commandments,  their 

cold  eyes  fixed  on  heaven, 
But  it  isn't  of  ten  they're  thinking;  it's  only 

number  seven. 
Well,  what  if  the  touch  of  passion  shall  colour 

the  cheek  of  snow! 
Who   are   they   that   cry   "  unholy,"   and   who 

will  the  first  stone  throw? 
Poet  and  sage  and  prophet  have  never  failed  to 

sing 
The  truth  of  the  ancient  axiom  that  "  Youth 

must  have  its  fling." 
One  said  of  old,  to  a  woman:  "  Depart  and  sin 

no  more," 
But  his   chosen    friend   King    Solomon  had    a 

thousand  wives  or  more. 
And  it  isn't  upon  the  records  that  he  ever  had 

to  atone, 
And  if  sin  it  be  for  the  woman,  why  the  man 

can't  sin  alone. 
And  so  Bohemia  teaches  that  Nature's  gift  to 

man, 
Is  a  set   of  brains  and  some  passions.     You 

must  balance  them  if  you  can. 

22 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  I  tell  you  Bohemia's  pendulum  is  a  thing 

that  swingeth  wide. 
It  may  touch  heaven  in  the  morning  and  hell 

at  eventide. 
But  pain  is  the  price  of  pleasure.     You  must 

pay  a  tear  for  a  smile. 
God   save    us   from   shallow   natures   who   are 

happy  all  the  while. 

The  glance  of  the  eye  that  thrills  us,  the  clasp 
of  the  hand  that  cheers, 

The  ring  of  the  voice  that  charms  us,  the  swift 
smile  that  endears, 

The  bringing  of  kindred  spirits,  be  they  beg 
gars,  priests,  or  kings, 

To  stand  on  a  common  footing  is  the  gift 
Bohemia  brings. 

And  the  spirits  that  rule  Bohemia,  the  hours 

of  happiness  through, 
Ask    not    for    your    birth    or    title,    but    only: 

"What  can  you  do?" 
And  it   all    depends   on   your   answer,  if   your 

words  ring  fair  and  true, 

23 


IN  BOHEMIA 

As  you  stand  at  the  gate  of  Bohemia,  if  the 
questioner  lets  you  through. 

And   once   inside    of    Bohemia,   what   hope   ye 

there  to  find? 
Not   only   those   who    can  listen  when   bright 

mind  answers  mind, 
But  those  who  can  thrill  your  senses  and  lift 

you  to  the   skies 
On  the  wings  of  song  till  you  enter  the  gates 

of    Paradise. 
For  vassal  and  king  in  Bohemia  have  natures 

strangely  blent, 
Where    God-given    gifts    are    plenty    and    the 

greatest  —  Temperament. 

And  they  who  are  blessed  of  heaven  with  its 
only  foretaste  here 

Are  swayed  by  the  wings  of  Fancy  and  sub 
ject  to  atmosphere, 

Reflecting   the   moods   of  the  moment   of  joy 
or  sorrow  or  pain, 

But  ever  the  smile  to  cheer  you  like  the  sun 
shine  after  the  rain. 

24 


IN   BOHEMIA 

That's  why  I  love  Bohemia,  where  the  masks 

are  laid  aside, 
And   a  warm   heart  beating   truly   is    never   a 

thing  to  deride. 
"Oh!    I'd  rather  live  in  Bohemia  than  in  any 

other   land." 
I'd  rather  be  poor  in  Bohemia  than  rich  in  a 

palace   grand, 
Apart  from  the  friends  that  love  us  and  reckon 

us  at  our  worth  — 
I  tell  you,  boys,  Bohemia  —  is  the  only  place 

on  earth. 


THE  BOHEMIAN 

It  is  not  easy  to  recognize  the  true  Bohe 
mian  at  a  glance. 

Just  when  you  have  satisfied  yourself  that 
a  particular  set  of  characteristics  in  some  one 
personality  fills  the  bill,  he  falls  down  in  some 
prime  essential,  and  you  must  relight  your  lan 
tern,  bail  out  your  tub,  and  start  your  search 
anew. 

He  is  as  difficult  to  locate  as  "  The  Man 
About  Town,"  who  was  something  between 
a  rounder  and  a  club-man,  who  vacillated  be 
tween  a  Fifth  Avenue  reception  and  a  Bowery 
boxing  bout,  who  didn't  belong  to  the  Lotus 
Club,  nor  was  he  a  leading  spirit  in  Chuck 
Connor's  Sunday  Fishing  Excursions,  but  of 
everything  intermediate  he  knew  all. 

He  will  give  his  seat  in  a  crowded  car  to  an 
Old  mammy,  tired  with  her  day's  washing, 

26 


IN  BOHEMIA 

quicker  than  to  a  pink  face,  topped  by  copper- 
coloured  curls,  topped  again  by  a  picture  hat, 
and  still  again  by  a  bird  whose  spreading 
wings  suggest  that  the  wearer  ought  to  pay 
two  fares  to  be  comfortable. 

A  young  English  Bohemian  defined  his  posi 
tion  unconsciously  in  a  comment  on  fashions 
in  dress.  He  said: 

"  I  fail  to  recognize  the  necessity,  don'  cher 
know,  for  giving  so  much  time  and  suffering, 
so  much  annoyance,  in  the  matter  of  deciding 
upon  the  proper  suit.  I'm  sure  I  get  along 
very  nicely  with  only  my  pyjamas  and  evening 
dress." 

The  Man  About  Town  works  when  he  has 
to,  but  the  Bohemian  works  when  he  wants 
to,  and  adapts  his  life  to  the  consequent 
revenue. 

One  of  the  many  types  is  a  hard-working, 
honey-making  bee  as  long  as  the  daylight 
lasts,  but  as  soon  as  he  feels  the  refractions 
and  reflections  of  the  White  Lane's  incandes 
cence  upon  his  broad  expanse  of  shirt  front, 
his  character  changes,  and  the  peace-loving 

27 


IN  BOHEMIA 

citizen  of  the  day  becomes  the  Bohemian  of 
the  night,  looking  for  trouble,  and  ready  to 
pawn  his  watch  for  the  needful  and  ready 
to  loan  the  needful  to  the  needy. 

Still  another  type  is  modest  and  retiring 
until  a  wicker-covered  Chianti  bottle  and  a 
steaming  dish  of  spaghetti  loom  in  the  fore 
ground.  Then  he  bursts  into  song  that  is  not 
music,  nods  familiarly  to  everybody  in  sight, 
and  offers  to  send  all  the  patrons  of  the  res 
taurant  home  in  cabs  at  his  expense. 

The  usual  Bohemian,  worthy  of  the  name, 
acquires  what  might  be  called  a  "  graceful 
gift  of  gab,"  if  it  has  not  fallen  to  him  by  in 
heritance,  for  there  is  no  place  in  the  world 
where  a  man  is  more  apt  to  be  called  upon 
for  impromptu  remarks  than  in  Bohemia,  and 
woe  to  the  man  who  fails  to  make  good, 
whether  it  be  at  the  tables  of  the  Upper  Ten 
or  the  feeding-grounds  of  the  lower  ten  thou 
sand. 

The  lack  of  a  flow  of  words  is  forgiven, 
however,  if  you  can  "  do  something."  Paint 
ing,  sculpture,  poesy  —  poor  poesy  —  without 

28 


IN  BOHEMIA 

the  exclamation  point,  suffer,  oh!  how  they 
suffer,  that  Bohemia  may  cry  proudly: 

"  He  sculps,"  "  Great  painter,"  or,  with 
the  usual  pitying  smile  and  lifting  of  the  eye 
brows:  "Poet!  —  But!" 

If  the  clay  and  the  palette  and  the  gift  of 
speech  fail,  there  is  still  hope  for  some  of  the 
strugglers.  Fortune  may  have  left  bags  of 
gold  at  his  gates,  and  then  he  "  entertains." 

But,  after  all,  the  true  Bohemian  is  as 
elusive  as  the  finale  to  Frank  Stockton's  "  Lady 
or  the  Tiger,"  for  just  when  you  think  the 
chain  of  your  reasoning  is  complete  and  you 
have  located  him,  a  link  in  your  logic  slips, 
and  you  must  scour  Bohemia  again  to  find 
the  genuine  article. 

But,  fortunately,  the  labour  we  delight  in, 
physics  pain. 


29 


THE  MORNING   AFTER 

The  waltz,  the  wine,  the  whispered  words  that 

thrill, 

The  shadowed  nooks  in  a  conservatory, 
A  dozen  dances,  quite  ignored,  until 

His  lips  could  frame  anew  the  old,  old  story. 

The  orchids  droop,  the  violets  breathe  their  last, 

The  atmosphere  about  them  getting  torrid  — 

30 


IN  BOHEMIA 

When  love  is  sweet,  what  makes  flowers  fade 

so  fast? 

The    dance    is    done;     'tis    nearly    morn  — 
"  How  horrid!  " 

When   from    the    arms    of    sleep    dear    dreams 

arise, 

Enfolded  soft  in  daintiest,  filmiest  laces  — 
Fond   angels,   drifted    out   of    Paradise, 

Whence  come  those  little  frowns  upon  their 

faces? 

Justine,  the  maid,  might  question,  with  a  sigh, 
"  Where     is     the     usual     smile     and     rippling 

laughter?  " 

An  angel's  voice  might,  brusquely,  make  reply, 
"Ah,  woe  is  me!    it  is  the  Morning  After." 

The  sunbeams  tiptoe  in  to  kiss  her  hair; 

On    cheek   and   chin   the    sunshine    loves   to 

linger; 
The  whispering  South-wind  murmurs,  "  She  is 

fair!"  — 

She  does  not  care  the  tip  of  one  small  finger, 
For  she  has  found  a  snowy  little  hair, 
And  stilled,  alas!  is  all  her  song  and  laughter; 

31 


IN  BOHEMIA 

That  silver  record  of  a  happier  care 

Upsets  the  whole  wide  world  —  The  Morn 
ing  After. 

What  knows  the  peach  that  ripens  in  the  sun, 

The  kisses  of  the  leaves  about  her  scorning, 
Of  how  the  restless  race  of  life  is  run? 

What    does    she    know    about    a    real    Next 

Morning? 
One  flake  of  snow  does  not  a  Winter  make; 

A  woman's  life  is  full  of  moods  and  tenses; 
When    dreams    are    shattered,    hearts    should 
never  break, 

But  cherish  them  as  sweet  experiences. 

The  Morning  After!     Then  the  mirror  shows, 

By  little  starts  and  swiftly  fleeting  flushes, 
That  memory  is  at  work.     The  mirror  knows 
They   are  but   echoes,   dear,   of   last   night's 

blushes. 
But  then  the  angel  empties  out  her  heart, 

Of  all  its  pleading,  coaxing,  sighing  tenants; 
Hangs  up  a  sign:    "No  rooms  to  let,  within," 
And  all  the  men  —  save  one  —  do  nine  days' 
penance. 

32 


On  the  Half 


PEARL  AND  THE  OYSTER 

Her  name  wasn't  really  "  Pearl."  It  was 
only  a  pet  name,  but  a  few  of  us  knew  that 
she  "  was  educated  beautiful "  and  "  her  fa 
ther's  house  in  Vermont  was  just  grand,"  and 
when  her  "  father's  friend "  came  up  there 
from  New  York  —  well  —  "  What's  the  use  o' 
tears,  anyhow?  " 

Pearl  was  a  brilliant  conversationalist,  even 
if  it  was  overburdened  with  vernacular.  She 
was  frank  and  confiding.  Why,  she  used  to 
wear  a  white  feather  boa,  after  she  bleached 
her  hair,  and  when  some  one  tried  to  compli 
ment  her,  saying: 

"  Do  you  know,  Pearl,  I  think  only  a  blonde 
should  wear  a  white  boa." 

She  answered: 

"  I  have  just  as  much  trouble  keeping  this 
boa  white  as  I  do  keeping  my  hair  blonde." 

She   didn't  hesitate   to  express  herself  even 

35 


IN  BOHEMIA 

if  there  were  strangers  at  the  table.     I  heard 
her  say  one  night: 

"  I'm  tired  of  being  footed  under  the  table 
by  some  one  who  thinks  a  cheap  dinner  en 
titles  him  to  uncalled-for  demonstrations.  I 
want  my  emotions  stirred,  of  course.  Every 
body  does.  I  want  to  be  taken  off  my  feet 
once  in  awhile.  I  want  to  meet  a  man  who 
isn't  afraid  to  take  me  by  the  shoulders  and 
shake  me  and  say:  'You  she-devil!  You  mad 
den  me!'  and  then  I'll  dress  in  red  for  him." 

I  was  there  at  the  table  d'hote  the  night  she 
broke  her  pivot  tooth  on  a  pearl  in  the  oyster. 

I  don't  know  how  she  happened  to  be  eating 
oysters  that  night,  for  she  was  the  girl  who 
said: 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  I  don't  like  oysters." 

Somebody  said: 

"Why?" 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  if  I  liked  'em  I'd  eat 
'em,  and  I  hate  'em." 

She  yelled  a  delicious  little  "Oh!"  when 
she  bit  the  pearl  and  covered  her  mouth,  a 
very  pretty  mouth,  with  her  napkin. 

36 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  when  she  cried; 

"Why!  It's  a  pearl!"  everybody  in  the 
place  knew  about  it,  especially  the  proprietor. 

We  never  had  liked  him  personally,  and  we 
liked  him  less  when  he  claimed  the  pearl. 

But  Pearl's  cavalier  that  evening  was  a 
lawyer,  and  the  argument  waxed  delicious. 

The  proprietor  claimed  the  usual  privilege 
of  charging  extra  for  things  taken  away  from 
the  table,  but  the  lawyer  argued  that  he  had 
bought  the  oyster  and  all  that  pertained  to  it, 
and  could  throw  it  away  if  he  chose  to. 

Then  the  proprietor  said  that  he  had  sold 
only  the  edible  qualities  of  the  oyster,  and  that 
Cleopatra  was  the  only  one  who  ever  claimed 
that  pearls  were  really  a  feature  of  any  first- 
class  menu.  To  this  the  lawyer  replied  that 
Cleopatra's  pearl,  being  among  the  potations 
and  not  considered  edible,  the  cases  were  not 
parallel. 

Then    the    proprietor    maintained    that    the 
pearl  was  a  part  of  the  shell  and  as  such  was 
his,  since   custom  had  decreed  that  the   shell 
of  the  oyster  was  usually  left  behind. 
37 


Then  Pearl  herself  spoke  up  and  said  that 
everything  on  the  plate  was  hers,  and  if  she 
chose  to  eat  the  shells  it  was  her  privilege. 

An  auctioneer  across  the  table  said: 

"  Excuse  me  for  butting  in,  but  we  have  a 
sort  of  a  formula  which  goes  on  the  block 
that  all  goods  sold  are  sold  '  as  is.'  And  that 
oyster  was  sold  '  as  is,'  "  said  the  auctioneer, 
"  and  don't  you  give  it  up.  The  laws  will 
sustain  you." 

Then  a  little  joker  interfered  and  said: 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  the  story  of  the  man 
who  found  a  pants  button  in  the  hash  and 
remonstrated,  and  the  waiter  asked  him  what 
he  was  kicking  about,  and  asked  if  he  expected 
to  find  a  silk  umbrella?" 

And  the  joker  continued:, 

"  There  isn't  a  line  in  the  story  that  would 
lead  any  one  to  believe  that  the  waiter  de 
manded  the  button." 

The  lawyer  took  up  the  argument  again 
and  claimed  that  the  pearl  was  a  by-product 
of  the  oyster  just  as  the  button  was  a  by 
product  of  the  hash,  and  maintained  that  the 

38 


IN  BOHEMIA 

brewer  who  buys  barley  to  make  beer  is  en 
titled  to  whatever  by-products  may  come 
from  the  mash  after  the  barley  has  performed 
its  functions. 

When  the  pearl  was  valued  at  seven  hundred 
dollars,  the  proprietor  was  the  maddest  man 
I  ever  saw. 

I'm  not  sure  that  Pearl  sold  it,  but  her  flat 
is  just  as  cozy  as  it  can  be,  and  the  lawyer 
certainly  won  her  respect  by  the  way  he 
argued  her  side  for  her. 


39 


ART,  FIN  DE  SIECLE 

Perspective   lines   are   out  of  date. 

A  compass  and  a  scroll, 
A  bit  of  chalk,  a  schoolboy's  slate, 

A   man  without   a   soul, 
Are  all  that  modern  art  requires, 

As   you   can   plainly   see. 
All  rules  are  fudge.    No  man  can  judge 

How  this  or  that  should  be. 

The  hungry  artist  starves  to  prove 

The  genius  of  effect, 
As  swift  he  moves  along  the  grooves 

Of   canonized   elect. 
A  sweep!     A  swish!     A  swash  of  ink! 

A  wild  erratic  line! 
A  dot!     A  dash!   and  like  a  flash, 

Behold!     High  art,  divine! 


40 


RECTOR'S  AFTER  THE  PLAY 

Rector's  after  the  play  is  supposed  to  be  a 
very  naughty  place  to  go,  but  the  evening 
parses  with  the  utmost  decorum,  and  there 
is  usually  more  hullabaloo  at  a  family  table. 

Nothing  is  said  audibly  that  can  bring  the 
blush  of  shame  to  the  cheek  of  modesty;  of 
course  there  are  little  whisperings  at  the  side 
tables,  but  when  youth  is  having  its  fling  it 
will  whisper  anywhere.  So,  you  see,  it  isn't 
what  is  said  and  done  at  Rector's  that  makes 
it  naughty,  it  is  the  fact  that  people  go  there 
at  that  time  who  have  ultra  Bohemian  tenden 
cies  when  they  are  not  there. 

Could  you  pick  up  snatches  of  the  conversa 
tion  at  the  various  tables  it  would  run  some 
thing  like  this: 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  they  have 
quarrelled  again?" 

"  Quarrelled?  Why,  he  struck  her  in  a  fit 
of  jealousy." 

41 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you  that  no  man  would 
ever  strike  me  but  once." 

Or,  at  another  table: 

"Well!  you  saw  the  Victoria  she  drives 
yourself,  and  if  you  think  she  has  saved  that 
out  of  her  alimony,  you  are  mistaken." 

"  But  who  is  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  told  that  when  she  went  to 
Monte  Carlo  last  summer  — "  and  so  the  cat 
is  out  of  the  bag  at  that  table. 

If  you  are  good  and  go  to  Rector's  it  is 
overlooked.  If  you  are  bad  and  go  there,  they 
overlook  you. 

Rector's  after  the  play  is  not  unlike  d'Ar- 
menoville  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  of  an 
afternoon.  Pretty  but  not  punctilious  girls 
in  profusion,  and  stunning  gowns. 

The  fascination  of  the  place  is  in  guessing 
who  paid  for  them,  and  after  you  have  guessed 
it,  you  have  another  guess  as  to  how  long  he 
will  pay  for  them.  That  is  more  difficult. 
Oh,  yes!  Plenty  of  good  people  go  there,  too. 
I  go  there  myself! 


42 


In  the  Soup 


'You  are  now  ripe  for  fluffy  skirts" 


HUNGARIAN   GOULASH  ON  THE  EAST 
SIDE 

"The  Scum  of  the  Earth!"  you  think  and 
say,  as  a  pig-tailed  child  treads  on  your  toes  in 
a  wild  endeavour  to  reach  "  Home  "  in  a  game 
of  hop-scotch  on  the  East  Side.  But,  two  gen 
erations  later,  that  "  scum  "  changes  its  name 
and  becomes  "  The  Upper  Crust." 

You  dive  under  a  brown  stone  flight  of  steps 
and  a  motherly  girl  in  pink  silk  beseeches  you 
to  "  Come  and  play  in  he  r  yard."  She  im 
plores  you  to  join  in  the  chorus,  for  the  more 
enthusiasm  she  can  stir  up  the  longer  her 
engagement  lasts.  A  very  thin  soup  is  placed 
before  you  with  a  pea,  two  beans,  and  a  hint  at 
a  carrot  hurdling  over  a  noodle  in  the  trans 
lucent  depths.  But  the  soup  has  flavour,  and 
you  begin  to  take  notice  as  you  smile  because 
the  others  around  you  are  doing  it  for  the 
same  reasons. 

45 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Opposite  you,  eating  in  a  Hungarian  way, 
is  a  man  who  certainly  must  be  an  orchestra 
leader,  for  knife,  spoon,  and  fork,  all  testify 
as  he  gracefully  stabs  whatever  he  needs 
next  among  the  eatables.  He  is  out  of  work 
or  he  would  be  at  work  at  this  hour.  Over 
there  is  a  German  brewer,  self-satisfied  and 
contented.  No  doubt  it  is  his  beer  which  the 
placards  on  the  wall  advertise,  and  the  pro 
prietor  is  not  behind  in  his  accounts,  for  the 
brewer  jollies  him.  At  another  small  table 
in  the  corner  is  a  stenographer,  or  a  "  Hello  " 
girl  with  her  beau,  and  their  elbows  touch 
across  the  table.  Drop  your  napkin,  and  as 
you  pick  it  up,  glance  over  and  you  will  see 
that  their  toes  touch  under  the  table.  Love's 
young  dream  always  wants  to  touch  toes  under 
the  table.  Some  never  get  over  the  habit. 
Scattered  about  the  place,  the  European  ele 
ment  dominates.  When  the  waiter  is  near, 
you  feel  like  a  boor.  He  is  so  princely.  The 
waiters  all  click  their  heels  like  German  offi 
cers.  Maybe  they  have  been  German  officers, 


46 


IN  BOHEMIA 

for  when  you  raise  your  finger,  they  stand 
at  "  Attention  "  magnificently. 

The  orchestra  perspires  at  its  work.  What 
ever  may  fail  on  the  menu  or  seem  scant,  the 
musicians  give  full  measure.  Effort,  volume, 
and  intensity  are  all  there.  They  have  played 
those  pieces  a  million  times,  but  they  stare 
the  notes  out  of  countenance  to  prove  their 
devotion  to  art. 

After  the  soup,  you  draw  mysterious  little 
dishes  that  bewilder  you,  but  leave  a  charm. 

By  the  time  you  get  to  the  roast,  it  is  eight 
o'clock  and  the  evening  is  in  its  prime.  Every 
body  seems  to  love  everybody  else,  thanks  to 
the  heavy  Hungarian  wines  or  the  beer  of 
the  brewer,  who  is  certainly  proving  his  faith 
in  his  own  works.  If  he  is  paying  full  rates, 
it  is  a  fine  night  for  the  restaurant.  The 
wines  flow  freely,  too,  and  the  names  on  the 
labels  suggest  a  Russo-Japanese  battle-field. 

A  massive  creature,  with  an  expanse  of  shirt 

front  which  might  accommodate  a  map  of  the 

world,   steps   upon   the    little   stage.      In   your 

mind's  eye  you  picture  the  great,  heavy  bass 

47 


IN  BOHEMIA 

notes  which  will  roll  out  to  greet  you,  and  you 
curl  your  legs  around  the  legs  of  your  chair 
for  the  onslaught.  But,  no,  out  pours  a 
tender  love-song  in  a  tenor  voice  that  is 
almost  a  falsetto,  and  you  hate  him  and  want 
to  hit  him,  and  you  say: 

"Where  was  he  during  the  subway  strike?" 
You  have  reached  a  point  where  you  adore 
the  goulash.  You  seek  the  proprietor's  hand 
and  hold  it  while  he  tells  you  stories  of  his 
boyhood,  and  how  he  became  what  he  now  is 
on  that  self-same  goulash,  prepared  after  the 
same  recipe  used  —  God  rest  her  soul  —  by 
one  now  dead.  You  are  ready  to  drop  a  tear 
for  the  wife  or  the  mother,  under  the  weeping 
willow  in  that  far-off  land,  when  a  command 
ing  voice  from  a  buxom  bosom  cries  "  Isi 
dore!"  and  he  not  only  hastens  but  hurries. 
Only  a  wife  could  say  "  Isidore  "  like  that,  and 
a  wife  who  knew  her  business,  too.  The  gou 
lash  recipe  is  hers.  You  are  now  ripe  for 
fluffy  skirts.  You  are  not  shocked  to  notice 
that  the  lady  on  the  stage  wears  only  one 
garter.  She  does  not  really  strive  to  show 

48 


IN  BOHEMIA 

you  that  there  is  a  hiatus  between  underskirt 
and  stocking,  but  it  reveals  itself  unconsciously, 
and  you  do  not  hear  the  words  she  sings,  you 
are  so  busy  wondering  if  she  knows  what 
you  know.  She  does.  That  hiatus  has  set  the 
ball  rolling.  Conversation  develops  between 
the  audience  and  the  stage.  The  "  Artistes  " 
get  familiar  with  the  congregation.  Repartee 
is  not  on  the  programme,  but  you  know  now 
why  they  dared  make  the  soup  so  thin.  It 
is  this  running  fire  of  comment  that  brings  the 
people  here.  When  it  first  began  you  were 
rather  disposed  to  say: 

"How  unnecessary!" 

But  the  first  thing  you  know,  something 
strikes  you  as  witty,  and  you  say  it  aloud.  It 
gets  a  laugh,  and  you  think  out  a  better  one, 
and  the  second  effort  falls  down.  It  was  pre 
meditated,  and  nothing  premeditated  goes. 

When  you  come  out,  you  remember  goulash, 
enthusiasm,  pink  skirts,  and  a  hiatus,  but  you 
forget  whether  the  German  brewer  had  been  a 
leader  of  an  orchestra,  or  whether  the  Hun 
garian  had  deserted  from  the  German  army. 
49 


IN  BOHEMIA 

It  was  one  or  the  other.  But  you  insist  that 
the  proprietor  shall  give  you  a  whole  lot  of 
his  cards,  you  have  such  heaps  of  friends  who 
will  be  crazy  to  come  there  when  you  tell  them 
about  it.  He  hunts  up  three,  two  soiled  and 
one  clean  one.  He  is  a  "  nice  fellow." 

You  are  going  there  always,  once  a  week, 
anyway  —  sure !  But  you  never  go  back. 
Why?  Why,  because  there  are  a  thousand 
places  just  like  it  lurking  at  every  by-path  on 
the  East  Side,  and  why  go  there  again  when 
variety  is  the  spice  of  life? 


50 


WHEN  MABEL  POURS  THE  TEA 

It  matters  not  what  cups  are  used; 

They're  all  the  same  to  me: 
The  contents  I  have  ne'er  refused, 

When  Mabel  pours  the  tea. 
51 


IN  BOHEMIA 

The  flavour,  delicate,  divine, 

Much  finer  seems  to  be. 
If  her  dear  eyes  glance  into  mine, 

When  Mabel  pours  the  tea. 

A  prettier  sight,  in  all  the  land, 

I  never  hope  to  see, 
Her  face  behind  the  brew  she  planned, 

When  Mabel  pours  the  tea. 

And  other  bachelor  hearts  I'm  sure 

With  mine  will  quite  agree. 
A  thousand  subtle  charms  allure, 

When  Mabel  pours  the  tea. 

Her  dainty  hands  are  wondrous  fair, 

I  wonder  if  —  Ah!     Me!  — 
If  she'd  consider  sitting  there  — 

To  —  always  —  pour  my  tea! 


52 


THERE  NEVER  WAS   A  MAN 

There   never   was   a   man, 
Since  womanhood  began, 

Could  solve   the   mystic  riddle   of  a   woman's 
wondrous  ways, 

His  heart-strings  once  in  hand, 
She  holds  them  in  command, 
And  evermore,  thereafter,  she  upon  them  deftly 
plays. 


She    bids    him    to    forget, 
She  scorns  and  spurns  him,  yet, 

She    never    quite    releases    him,    as    you    may 
well  suppose. 

She  brings  him  to  her  arms, 
By  strangely  subtle  charms, 

As  delicate  and  dainty  as  the  perfume  of  a  rose. 


53 


IN  BOHEMIA 

But  some  of  us,  who  think, 
Must  hesitate  to  drink, 

At   fountains   where   the    overflow   irregularly 
runs, 

Lest  too  persistent  wooing 
Result  in  our  undoing 

And  sorrow's  sable  mantle  shroud  the  setting 
of  our  suns. 


54 


Some     say     a     woman 

never  ought  to  drink, 

And  if  they  do  they're 

trembling  on  a  brink, 

But  if  a  glass  of 

sherry 
Incites   us    to   be 

merry 

I  guess  we  won't  refuse 
it.       What     do     you 
think? 


The  Little  Widow" 


THE  LITTLE  WIDOW  AT  OLD  MARIA'S 

The  little  widow  had  been  insisting  for  a 
long  time  that  it  was  her  right  and  privilege 
to  lay  aside  convention  for  a  night,  and  see 
the  real  Bohemia.  I  was  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  Maria's  was  really  Bohemia  or  simply 
Bohemian,  and  I  hesitated. 

The  little  widow  was  a  modest,  quiet,  re 
served  personality,  and  only  a  few  knew  of 
the  soupcon  of  deviltry  in  her  nature,  for  she 
had  a  habit  of  drooping  her  eyelids  when  the 
flash  came  into  the  eyes,  which  left  you  all  at 
sea  as  to  what  was  really  passing  in  her  mind. 

So  she  had  set  a  definite  date  on  which, 
willy-nilly,  I  was  to  be  her  escort  and  really 
"  do  "  Bohemia. 

We  were  a  little  late  in  arriving,  owing  to 
a  long  argument  in  which  I  tried  to  prove 
that  she  should  sign  papers  exonerating  me 
from  all  blame  in  case  anything  went  wrong. 
I  knew,  of  course,  that  Bohemians  are  tem- 

57 


IN  BOHEMIA 

peramental,  and  even  in  Maria's  there  had 
occurred  occasional  fisticuffs  and  more  re 
sounding  slaps  with  the  flat  of  the  hand.  How 
was  I  to  know  that  a  stray  mustard  pot,  on 
its  way  to  avenge  a  fancied  wrong,  might 
not  wreck  my  hopes  for  the  future  and  inci 
dentally  a  gown  for  the  widow!  She  was 
very  pretty,  and  Bohemians  are  susceptible. 
How  was  I  to  know  that  I  might  not  have  to 
do  some  resenting  myself! 

Jim  Ford  was  partly  to  blame  for  it  all.  She 
had  been  perusing  him,  almost  to  a  finish.  In 
vain  I  tried  to  persuade  her  that  Jim  Ford 
was  a  big,  brawny,  handsome,  broad-shoul 
dered  Hercules,  who  could  dominate  Bohemia 
if  he  liked.  I  drew  vivid  pictures  of  the  con 
trast  between  her  daintiness  and  his  muscu 
larity,  but  she  would  not  listen. 

The  smoke  was  pressing  against  the  dingy 
ceiling,  like  a  cushion,  as  we  came  in.  Below 
the  cushion,  long,  stringy  clouds  of  smoke 
were  looking  for  a  home,  and  still  lower  down 
figures  could  be  seen,  vaguely  outlined,  like 
the  spirits  in  the  nether  world  feeling  their 

58 


IN  BOHEMIA 

way  through  the  cloudy  realms  of  space  in 
"  The  Darling  of  the  Gods,"  and  wailing,  "  It 
is  a  thousand  years." 

But  these  spirits  were  not  wailing.  A  few 
had  begun  to  maudle.  Some  were  merely 
exhilarated,  and  others  were  voluble.  I  assured 
the  little  widow  that  we  were  not  really  play 
ing  fair,  for  we  should  have  begun  with  them 
in  order  to  feel  with  them,  but  she  was  quite 
satisfied,  and  was  hardly  seated  before  she 
whispered: 

"Isn't    it    fun?" 

I  had  been  there  before,  and  never  found 
it  twice  alike,  so  I  was  prepared  for  the  un 
expected,  if  such  a  paradox  can  exist.  We 
located  in  a  bunch  of  genius,  that  is,  a  shock 
of  hair,  a  trifle  tangled,  a  hollow-eyed  Irving 
in  miniature,  a  prodigious  turned-down  collar, 
a  yard  of  ribbon  posing  as  a  necktie,  and  a 
sort  of  a  Mr.  Pickwick,  the  names  attached 
to  the  others  not  being  essential.  I  had  never 
spoken  twenty  sentences  with  the  shock  of 
hair,  but  he  rushed  around  the  table  and 
shouted: 

59 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"Dear  old  fellow!  Charmed,  charmed,  I 
assure  you! " 

Then  he  looked  at  the  little  widow  with  a 
sort  of: 

"  Of  course  you've  got  to  introduce  me," 
air,  and  I  did. 

He  made  a  sweeping  gesture,  such  as  his 
Majesty  might  have  made  on  the  high  hill 
when  he  said: 

"  All  this  will  I  give  thee  —  if  —  "  and,  beam 
ing  with  a  proprietary  smile,  continued: 

"It's  the  real  thing,  ain't  it?" 

And  the  widow  said: 

"Perfectly  jolly."  But  I  couldn't  tell  for 
the  life  of  me  if  she  meant  it. 

And  then  Micky  Finn  arose,  and  the  as 
sembly  was  hushed,  for  if  there  is  a  true 
Bohemian,  he  is  one.  When  he  speaks  of 
Bohemia  he  speaks  feelingly  and  honestly  and 
earnestly,  and  if  his  laws  and  rules  and  regu 
lations,  or  the  lack  of  them,  could  be  carried 
out,  Maria's  would  have  been  Maria's  and  a 
whole  lot  besides. 

Micky  recited,  after  an  interesting  preamble, 

60 


IN  BOHEMIA 

a  bit  of  Irish  dialect  verse,  in  which  a  work 
ing  man's  morning  potation  was  made  to  seem 
like  ambrosial  nectar,  and  everybody  rushed 
at  their  beverages  to  see  if  it  could  be  really 
true,  but,  alas!  it  was  not  the  first  drink  of 
the  day  for  them,  and  quantity  had  to  take 
the  place  of  quality,  with  the  corresponding 
reaction. 

Then  some  one  "  did  "  John  Boyle  O'Reilly's 
"  Bohemia,"  and  it  rang  true,  but  somehow  the 
setting  was  wrong.  I  don't  think  Bohemia 
has  to  be  absolutely  in  a  basement,  nor  do  I 
think  that  ventilation  is  a  handicap. 

Between  the  turns,  bedlam  broke  loose. 
Conversation  was  fired  the  length  of  the  cellar, 
—  I  mean  the  dining-room,  —  and  it  was  not 
always  of  a  character  to  elevate  or  educate, 
or  even  amuse. 

You  have  had  some  little  fishes  as  appetizers, 
but  they  suggest  the  possibility  of  an  untidy 
barrel  kept  under  the  stairs  without  a  cover, 
and  you  hesitated.  You  have  had  the  onion 
soup,  and  it  was  powerful,  though  it  did  have 
flavour.  Possibly  that  is  because  you  don't 
61 


IN  BOHEMIA 

use  much  garlic.  The  fish  might  have  passed 
muster  if  it  had  not  been  swamped  in  all  the 
chopped-up  vegetables  of  the  universe  as  a 
sauce.  After  all,  you  came  for  the  spaghetti. 
It  arrived  on  schedule  time  and  you  twisted  it 
properly  and  threw  your  head  back  at  the 
right  angle,  and  only  a  little  bit  of  it  found 
your  shirt  front.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  the 
delights  of  spaghetti  are  not  partially  due  to 
the  gymnastics  that  go  with  it.  An  old 
Italian  priest  once  told  me  that,  to  thoroughly 
enjoy  spaghetti,  you  should  never  touch  wine 
while  eating  it.  Before  and  after,  yes,  but  not 
with  it.  He  claimed  that  the  acid  of  the  wine 
destroyed  the  sensitiveness  of  the  palate  for 
the  time  and  rendered  the  subtle  flavour  of 
the  dish  nil. 

By  this  time,  cigarettes  had  burned  holes 
in  the  none  too  tidy  table-cloths.  Here  and 
there  a  wine-glass  of  the  logwood  and  water 
had  dyed  nobly,  where  an  obtrusive  elbow  had 
waxed  eloquent  with  no  salt  at  hand  to  pour 
over  it,  though  the  hollow-eyed  Irving  in 
miniature  had  spilled  the  salt  and  then  poured 

62 


iN  BOHEMIA 

his  claret  absently  over  it.  And  no  one  seems 
bored  as  yet,  not  even  the  widow.  I  wonder 
why.  I  question  myself  vigorously: 

"Where  would  you  rather  be  than  here?" 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  not  discontented, 
but  I  am  glad  that  I  am  sitting  in  the  particular 
seat  near  a  certain  particular  person.  That 
is  only  natural. 

Often  some  one  sang,  but  oftener  some  one 
tried  to.  I  overheard  one  remark  which 
struck  me  as  really  funny.  A  young  lady,  in 
a  peacock  blue  broadcloth,  cut  demi-train  and 
trimmed  with  fur,  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about,  for  she  went  out  after  her  "  stunt,"  and 
that  was  what  a  woman  said  about  her,  well, 
when  she  started  for  the  piano,  some  one  said: 

"Why!     Does  she  sing?" 

And  the  nearest  neighbour  said: 

"  No.     I've  heard  her." 

That's  the  bugaboo  at  these  places.  You 
know  what  some  one  is  going  to  do,  and  how 
they'll  do  it  before  they  have  been  asked.  If 
some  one  would  only  take  some  interest  in 
advance  and  pick  out  those  who  are  willing 

63 


IN  BOHEMIA 

to  get  up  something  new.  But  who  is  going 
to  pay  the  man  who  takes  interest  in  advance? 
Nobody. 

It  would  be  much  lovelier  in  Bohemia  if 
every  one  would  be  more  truthful.  It  takes 
a  magnificent  liar  to  make  a  lie  interesting. 
Some  one  is  asked  to  make  a  few  remarks,  and 
he  gets  up  and  says  that  he  really  cannot  make 
a  speech.  That's  the  truth,  but  he  intends  it 
for  a  lie,  and  it  boomerangs  itself.  Then 
he  says  that  he  is  the  last  person  in  the  world 
to  talk  entertainingly,  and  he  thinks  no  one 
will  believe  him,  but  they  do. 

While  he  is  speaking,  many  talk.  In  this 
case  it  is  almost  justifiable,  but  they  do 
the  same  when  some  one  talks  well.  Over 
in  the  corner  five  heads  are  gathered  at  the 
centre  of  the  round  table.  That  means  a 
story  which  even  the  broad-minded  Marian- 
ites  may  not  overhear.  You  guess  the  drift  of 
it,  for  the  point  of  those  stories  always  falls 
under  one  of  four  heads  which  cover  the 
stories  of  the  world. 

A  white-haired  old  gentleman  "  Good- 

64 


IN  BOHEMIA 

nights"  everybody  as  he  passed  them  on  his 
way  out,  and  soon  a  few  of  the  less  Bohemian 
spirits  follow  him.  The  ultra  Bohemians  linger 
and  lounge.  I  look  at  the  little  widow  sig 
nificantly,  but  she  is  being  put  through  Bo 
hemia's  catechism  by  a  philosopher,  who 
lounges  on  his  elbow  and  holds  a  cigarette 
over  the  back  of  her  chair.  To-morrow  she 
will  say  "  Phew!  "  and  wash  her  hair.  Very 
pretty  hair  it  is,  too.  The  evening  has  lacked 
magnetism.  It  is  not  always  so. 

There  are  times  when  a  good  singer  sings 
well,  a  good  speaker  will  show  honest  wit, 
an  actor  will  render  a  part  in  truly  artistic 
fashion,  and  you  feel  repaid  for  the  time  spent, 
but  it  is  the  exception  not  the  rule. 

I  look  at  the  widow  again  and  she  nods.  On 
the  way  home  I  say: 

"Well?" 

She  smiles,  and  says,  softly,  and  I  think  she 
held  my  arm  a  trifle  closer: 

"  I  think  Sherry's  leaves  a  better  taste  in 
the  mouth,  don't  you?" 


65 


HAUNTED 

I'm  haunted  by  your  eyes,  dear, 
Those  eyes,  so  dark  and  deep, 

Where  passion  broods  and  dies,  dear, 
And   Love   awakes   from   sleep. 

Oh!    Eyes  of  slumbering  flame  and  fire, 

Have  ye  no  tears  to  quench  desire? 

I'm  haunted  by  your  lips,  dear, 

Your  lips  of  cherry  red; 
Nay,  not  for  little  sips,  dear, 

Where  half  is  left  unsaid, 
But  quivering  lips  that  speak  the  truth, 
All  wet  with  love's  sweet  dew  of  youth. 

I'm  haunted  by  your  face,  dear, 

That  tells  the  soul  within, 
Where  fleeting  smiles  find  place,  dear, 

And  heaven's  first  joys  begin. 

66 


I  ask  no  sceptre,  crown,  or  throne, 
Could  I  but  call  them  all  my  own. 

I'm  haunted  by  your  soul,  dear, 
The  heart  within  your  heart, 

Where  tides  of  passion  roll,  dear, 
And  all  the  senses  start, 

Where  every  trembling  nerve  is  thrilled, 

And  Love's  sweet  cup  of  joy  is  filled. 

'Tis  all  a  shadowy  dream,  dear, 

A  vision  that  is  vain. 
Things  are  not  what  they  seem,  dear, 

And  heritage  to  pain 
Is  all  that's  left  my  heart  to  tell, 
While  you  laugh  on  and  say,  "  Oh  —  well!  " 


67 


A  TOAST 


AT,  drink,  and  be  merry, 

to-morrow  ye  die." 
Is  a  motto  the  ages  have 

learned    to   forgive. 
But  the  age  fin  de   siecle 

says,  winking  an  eye, 
"  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry, 

to-morrow  ye  live." 


It   seems    so    much   better,   when   pleasure    is 

rife, 
And   life   is   worth    living,   to    drink   with    a 

smile. 

The  glasses  are  clinking,  so  here's  to  long  life. 
Death  isn't  worth  dying.     It's  gone  out  of 
style. 


68 


Just  on  the  side 


'John  Moore  started  back' 


THE  TALE  OF  A  HANSOM  HORSE 

EWITT  CLINTON  was  overstimu- 
lated.  It  had  been  a  hard  day  on  the 
floor  of  the  Exchange,  and  in  unload 
ing  five  thousand  shares  of  U.  P. 
preferred  he  had  completely  used 
up  a  voice  which  had  been  musical  and  per 
suasive  enough  to  win  a  promise  of  marriage 
from  old  Follinsbee's  daughter  Lucy,  but  the 
promise  involved  serious  conditions. 

The  ups  and  downs  of  U.  P.  preferred  had 
led  to  the  breaking  of  these  conditions  so 
often  that  Clinton  was  in  what  might  be 
called  probationary  disgrace,  and,  to  cheer  him 
self  up  a  bit,  he  was  breaking  the  conditions 
into  still  smaller  pieces. 

When  his  engagement  to  Lucy  Follinsbee 
had  become  an  assured  fact,  barring  the  con 
ditions,  he  had  sold  his  racers  and  let  John 
Moore,  his  faithful  groom,  take  a  vacation, 

71 


IN  BOHEMIA 

which  was  to  last  until  at  least  a  month  after 
his  honeymoon  trip. 

But  Lucy  Follinsbee,  with  a  keen  eye  to  the 
fulfilment  of  all  pledges,  had  put  off  the  wed 
ding-day,  because  of  certain  bibulous  breaches, 
until  over  a  year  had  flown  since  the  time 
when  Clinton  had  pictured  himself  a  con 
tented  benedick. 

The  fluctuations  of  U.  P.  preferred  had 
played  skittles  with  his  resolutions,  but  he 
was  ready  to  make  a  new  supply. 

And  so,  when  he  left  his  club  on  the  night  of 
his  overstimulation,  the  rock  candy,  dissolved 
in  the  natural  way,  for  his  hoarseness,  had  left 
him,  to  put  it  with  exceeding  mildness,  ex 
hilarated,  if  not  the  worse  for  wear  and  tear. 

At  his  own  door  a  voice  as  hoarse  as  his 
own,  from  different  and  cheaper  causes,  how 
ever,  greeted  him  from  the  seat  of  the  hansom, 
and,  dreading  the  lonesomeness  of  his  bachelor 
apartments,  Clinton  cried,  joyously: 

"Why!  As  I'm  a  sinner,  it's  dear,  old 
John!" 

Doubtless  he  would  have  embraced  the  old 

72 


IN  BOHEMIA 

groom  had  not  the  overstimulation  quickened 
his  sense  of  his  own  inability  to  bridge  the 
distance  to  the  top  of  the  hansom.  But  an 
overstimulated  member  of  the  stock  exchange 
is  a  resourceful  being.  He  winked  at  the  horse 
as  he  inquired: 

"Will  he  stand?"  It  was  more  than  evi 
dent  that  if  the  horse  had  a  pet  ambition,  it 
was  standing. 

"  Waive  ceremony,  John,  and  come  in,  for  I 
have  a  new  case  of  rare  old  Jamieson  that 
will  waken  memories  of  every  happy  hour 
you've  known." 

Had  Clinton  told  him  to  turn  the  hansom 
and  horse  loose  in  the  street,  John  would 
have  done  it.  Had  he  suggested  that  a  walk 
along  the  cornices  of  the  block  would  be  an 
appetizer  for  breakfast,  John  would  have 
joined  him.  He  was  fond  of  his  old,  young 
master,  and  his  word  was  law. 

Clinton's   den,   where   he   loved   to   talk  and 

think  and  argue,  and  even  drink  "  horse,"  was 

decorated  with  every  appurtenance  which  could 

stimulate  thoughts  of  the  turf.     Riding  crops 

73 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  extra  lashes,  bits  and  curbs  and  bridles 
and  snaffles  hung  like  pictures,  or  rather  in 
stead  of  pictures,  in  profusion.  Knee  rugs, 
blankets,  and  saddle-cloths  served  for  cush 
ions,  and  horseshoes,  ancient  and  modern, 
were  at  hand  to  set  afoot  the  horse  talk  if  the 
Jamieson  failed  to  inspire. 

Perhaps  John  Moore  developed  an  unusual 
amount  of  bravado  under  the  genial  warmth 
of  his  master's  welcome  and  a  third  Jamieson, 
but  in  the  general  trend  of  conversation  it 
seemed  natural  enough  that  he  should  make 
the  statement: 

"  The  'oss  ain't  born,  sir,  as  ole  John 
Moore  cawn't  drive." 

To  which  DeWitt  Clinton,  also  at  his  third 
Jamieson,  extra,  replied: 

"  Well,  John,  I've  got  a  little  vixen,  idle 
in  her  stall  at  Fifty-eighth  Street,  and  if  you 
can  drive  her,  you  can  have  her." 

"  As  you  will,  Mr.  Clinton,  as  you  will.  An' 
w'en  might  this  hexibition  take  place?" 

"  No  time  like  the  present,  John.  I  think 
it  will  be  a  case  where  the  less  witnesses  you 

74 


IN  BOHEMIA 

have  the  better.  I  will  drive  her  with  your 
cab  to  the  statue  of  old  What's-his-name,  at 
Seventy-second  Street  in  the  park,  and  if  you 
drive  her  back,  she's  yours." 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  the  change 
of  horses  was  made  at  the  stable,  and  the 
vixen  seemed  quite  in  the  mood  for  the  ex 
periment. 

Clinton  mounted  the  seat  of  the  hansom, 
telling  John  Moore  to  get  inside  as  he  gath 
ered  up  the  reins  for  a  burst  of  speed. 

The  start  might  have  been  a  good  one  if 
Clinton  had  thought  to  pull  up  and  fasten  the 
iron  supporting  rod,  which  relieves  the  horse 
when  not  in  action. 

It  rattled  about  for  an  instant,  and  then, 
like  a  living  thing  on  mischief  bent,  shot  out 
against  the  vixen's  heels. 

That  was  enough.  The  mood  of  the  vixen 
changed.  Just  how  or  why  the  hansom 
missed  the  gate  posts  at  the  entrance  of  the 
park,  no  one  will  ever  know.  There  were 
four  hands  on  the  reins,  for  even  the  intrepid 
John  inside  had  reached  out  to  assist. 

75 


IN  BOHEMIA 

In  a  vague  way  the  vixen  had  given  some 
little  heed  to  Clinton's  attempt  at  direction, 
and  they  whizzed  around  the  statue  at  least 
six  times  before,  as  though  by  common  con 
sent,  they  all  stopped  for  breath. 

John  Moore  was  out  like  a  shot  and  at  the 
vixen's  head. 

Clinton  was  a  good  second,  and  came  down 
from  the  box,  announcing: 

"  This  part  of  the  performance  being  com 
pleted,  you  will  now  drive  her  back,  John,  and 
claim  the  prize." 

"  Me  drive  'er  back?  "  said  John.  "  Not  fer  all 
the  'osses  in  the  universe.  She  ain't  no  'oss, 
she  ain't.  She's  a  born  devil  a-masqueradin' 
as  a  'oss.  That's  wot  she  is.  Me  drive  'er! 
No.  Not  me." 

"  Don't  you  think  she  might  have  behaved 
better  if  that  iron  rod  had  not  been  playing 
with  her  heels?"  said  Clinton,  cautiously,  to 
John. 

"  W'otever  it  was,  she  showed  'er  nawsty 
disposition,  sir.  I've  'andled  'osses  all  me 
life,  sir,  but  never  'ave  I  seen  so  much  o'  the 

76 


IN  BOHEMIA 

devil  in  a  livin'  thing.  Never  'ave  I  seen  so 
much  pure  cussedniss  in  a  pair  o'  ears." 

"  Unhitch  her  then,  and  lead  her  back.  I'll 
wait  until  you  come  with  your  own  horse," 
said  Clinton. 

Pale  streaks  across  the  east  gave  token  of 
the  coming  day  as  John  Moore  started  back, 
and  Clinton,  climbing  into  the  hansom,  pre 
pared  to  give  the  reaction  from  the  Jamieson 
full  sway. 

The  tilt  of  the  vehicle  made  bracing  against 
the  dashboard  necessary.  His  hat  had  been 
lost  en  route,  and  the  general  confusion  had 
tumbled  the  locks,  which  were  usually  as  un 
ruffled  as  a  ptarmigan's  breast.  But  little  he 
cared.  Jamieson  was  claiming  his  own,  and, 
regardless  of  appearances,  the  inflexible  law 
of  inclination  demanded  a  nap. 

It  was  broad,  very  broad  sunlight,  when 
Clinton  awoke  from  a  very  variegated  dream. 
Lucy  Follinsbee  was  astride  the  vixen,  and 
would  not  listen  to  reason.  Her  hair  was  trail 
ing  behind  her  for  miles,  and  Tarn  O'Shanter 
followed  with  the  witches.  Clinton  himself 
77 


IN  BOHEMIA 

swinging  two  bottles  of  Jamieson  like  Indian 
clubs,  was  the  goal,  and  he  knew  they  would 
run  him  down.  In  anticipation,  he  could  feel 
his  bones  aching  from  the  pounding  hoofs. 
But  the  mightiest  ache  was  in  the  part  of 
him  which  was  waking  last,  his  head.  He  was 
dimly  conscious  that  something  had  gone 
wrong,  but  not  quite  certain  as  yet  that  it  was 
himself.  Then,  as  his  vision  cleared,  he  began 
to  associate  hoof-beats  with  the  tangible 
realities  of  life. 

From  one  approach  he  saw  a  graceful  figure 
coming  toward  him  on  a  chestnut  mare,  and 
recognized  the  gait.  From  another  he  saw 
two  mounted  policemen,  and  in  the  remote 
perspective  he  saw  John  Moore  leading  a  horse 
that  would  stand. 

It  was  the  last  picture  in  the  world  that  De- 
Witt  Clinton  would  have  chosen  for  Lucy 
Follinsbee's  criticism,  and  long  before  he  could 
see  the  white  of  her  eyes  he  felt  the  severely 
critical  expression  of  face  which  had  already 
postponed  his  wedding-day  three  times. 

His  attempt  at  smoothing  his  rumpled  locks 

78 


IN  BOHEMIA 

with  begrimed  hands,  was  a  complete  failure. 
The  usual  recourse  of  an  embarrassed  man, 
brushing  imaginary  dust  from  his  knees,  also 
failed  to  restore  his  mental  equilibrium. 

"  Good  morning." 

It  looks  very  natural  and  comfortable  and 
pleasant  on  paper,  but  oh!  the  accent  and 
intonation  and  inflection! 

Clinton  took  his  first  hurdle,  and  fell. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  out  this  morning 
so  I  ran  up,"  he  said,  helplessly. 

"  In  evening  dress? "  said  Miss  Follinsbee, 
and  Clinton's  hand  grasped  his  expanse  of 
shirt  front,  saying  more  plainly  than  words 
could  have  done: 

"  I  forgot  the  evening  dress." 

"  The  air  is  delightful  this  morning,  isn't 
it? "  She  was  merciless. 

"I  don't  know.  Is  it?"  He  fell  at  the 
second  hurdle. 

"  Do  you  think  sleeping  in  the  open  air 
would  be  a  sure  cure?"  she  asked,  ingenu 
ously. 

Then  Clinton  grew  desperate  and  made  a 
79 


IN  BOHEMIA 

clean  breast  of  everything,  with  frequent  ap 
peals  to  John  Moore  for  corroboration  as  John 
harnessed  the  horse  that  would  stand  to  the 
hansom.  And  when,  in  a  final  burst  of  elo 
quence,  he  said: 

"  And,  Lucy,  if  I  had  a  home  to  go  to,  in 
stead  of  a  den,  and  if  I  had  you  to  please,  and 
you  to  hold  the  reins,  we  should  get  rid  of 
all  these  preliminary  canters,  and  I  could  settle 
down  to  my  gait." 

Then  Lucy  leaned  over  the  opposite  side 
of  the  chestnut  mare  and  took  pity.  She  said: 

"  Come  and  dine  to-night,  dear,  and  we'll  set 
a  date  this  time,  without  conditions." 


80 


MODERN  MARRIAGES 

I. 

Saucy  curl  on  pretty  girl. 

II. 

Brain  of  man  begins  to  whirl. 

III. 
Papa  something  of  a  churl. 

IV. 
Settles  fortune  on  the   girl. 

V. 
Monte  Carlo!     What  a  whirl! 

VI. 
Papa's  daughter  pawns  a  pearl. 

VII. 

Bad  man  hunts  another  girl. 

VIII. 

Papa  something  of  a  churl. 

IX. 

Gets  divorce  for  pretty  girl. 
81 


A  PUPIL  OF  CHARCOT 

An  Effective  Illustration  of  the  Subtle  Science 
of  Thought  Transference 

Three  thousand  dollars  had  just  changed 
hands  in  an  elegant  apartment  on  Fifth 
Avenue. 

Four  men  in  evening  dress  were  seated  in 
careless  attitudes  about  a  circular  table,  each 
sipping  a  demi-tasse,  after  a  banquet  of  un 
usual  excellence. 

Three  of  the  men  were  evidently  Americans; 
the  fourth  was  proclaimed  a  Frenchman  by 
the  cut  of  his  imperial  and  the  upward  curl 
of  his  moustaches. 

"  Talk  of  hypnotism  and  mesmerism,"  he 
had  said,  "  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  thought 
transference  is  in  its  infancy.  The  experi 
ments  of  M.  Charcot  are  but  child's  play  com- 

82 


IN  BOHEMIA 

pared  with  the  astounding  results  to  be 
achieved  before  the  birth  of  another  century. 
Every  thought  that  comes  into  being  in  the 
mind  of  man  is  a  living  entity,  endowed  at 
birth  with  a  power  for  good  or  evil,  the  mag 
nitude  of  which  is  beyond  our  wildest  dreams. 
Why,  gentlemen,  even  I,  a  private  citizen  of 
La  Belle  France,  to  whom  the  subject  of 
thought  transference  has  been  as  yet  but  a 
diversion  for  idle  hours  —  even  I,  without  repu 
tation  as  a  mesmerist,  and  lacking  the  won 
drous  power  of  the  adepts  of  the  East,  can 
cause  each  one  of  you  to  spring  to  your  feet  in 
astonishment. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  will  pour  from  the  decanter 
in  this  cabinet  a  glass  of  wine,  and  in  the 
instant  of  time  which  passes  as  I  raise  the 
glass  to  my  lips  I  shall  influence  a  human 
being  a  half  a  mile  away  who  is  not  now  cog 
nizant  of  my  existence  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  will  feel  and  know  the  desire  I  have  con 
ceived  within  me  for  his  presence.  He  will 
come  to  me,  not  knowing  why  he  comes, 
subject  to  my  will,  and  willing  to  testify  to 

83 


IN  BOHEMIA 

you  as  to  the  impelling  force  which  guided 
his  footsteps.  On  this  sheet  of  paper  I  will 
describe  the  individual's  manner  of  entering 
the  room,  his  general  appearance;  yes,  I  will 
go  still  further.  I  will  foretell  whatever  ob 
ject  he  may  carry  in  hand,  and  I  will  wager 
$1,000  that  my  statement  will  be  substantiated 
by  a  test." 

A  shout  of  derision  rose  from  the  throats 
of  the  three  Americans,  and  in  less  time  than 
it  takes  in  the  telling  each  had  agreed  to  the 
terms  of  the  wager. 

The  Frenchman  hastily  wrote  a  few  words 
on  a  sheet  of  paper,  folded  it,  and  enclosed 
it  in  an  envelope,  which  he  sealed.  He  then 
stepped  to  the  cabinet  and  poured  a  glass  of 
sherry  from  a  decanter,  saying: 

"  Sherry,  gentlemen,  is  my  lucky  drink.  I 
shall  drink  sherry  on  my  wedding  morning.  It 
is  a  wine  which,  by  right  of  many  good  and 
vivifying  qualities,  belongs  to  the  weaker  and 
better  sex;  but  because  woman's  intuitions 
are  akin  to  the  subtle  workings  of  the  brain 
in  thought  transference,  I  shall  drink  the 

84 


IN  BOHEMIA 

drink  of  womankind.  Gentlemen,  with  this 
glass  of  sherry  I  pledge  your  health." 

He  drained  the  glass,  and  placed  it  on  the 
cabinet  with  a  flourish. 

"  I  have  made  the  impression  I  believed 
possible,"  he  said.  "  I  have  reason  to  believe 
the  person  described  in  that  sealed  sheet  of 
paper  is  even  now  approaching  us." 

The  Frenchman  handed  to  his  guests  a  silver 
case,  from  which  each  took  a  Russian  cigarette. 

"  Before  you  have  half-finished  your  cigar 
ettes,  my  friends,"  he  continued,  "  you  shall 
admit  that  mind  is  superior  to  matter,  and 
that  there  are  powers  in  this  universe  superior 
even  to  mind  or  matter." 

At  that  instant  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"  Gentlemen,  kindly  read  the  description 
of  the  individual  who  will  enter,  before  I  open 
the  door." 

With  excited  faces  and  hasty  fingers  the 
sealed  document  was  opened,  and  one  of  the 
Americans  read: 

"  The   individual  I  have  summoned  will  be 

85 


IN  BOHEMIA 

less  than  twenty-five  years  of  age;  will  take 
off  a  cap,  not  a  hat,  as  he  enters  this  room; 
will  be  dressed  in  a  sack  coat  of  some  dark 
blue  material,  and  will  hold  in  his  hand  a 
slip  of  paper." 

The  Frenchman  opened  the  door,  and  the 
description  was  accurate  in  every  particular. 

It  was  an  American  District  Telegraph  mes 
senger,  and  the  Frenchman's  messenger  call 
was  inside  his  wine  cabinet. 


86 


"  X 'Rays  in  Egypt" 


A  BOHEMIAN  NIGHT  IN  CAIRO 

The  earlier  part  of  the  evening  was  conven 
tional  enough,  for  there  was  a  regimental  ball 
at  the  Ghizereh  palace  across  the  Nile,  and, 
judging  from  the  diversity  of  uniform,  there 
must  be  a  special  brand  for  each  officer,  for 
I  hardly  saw  two  alike,  and  each  one  outdoes 
the  other  for  splendour. 

In  a  mighty  quadrangle  of  the  purlieus  of 
Cairo,  flaming  and  smoking  oil  torches  throw 
fitful  shadows  of  Syrians,  Copts,  Nubians, 
Bedouins,  Abyssinians,  and  a  handful  of 
Americans. 

On  the  matting  in  the  centre  of  the  quad 
rangle  dervishes  are  whirling,  at  least,  they 
claim  to  be  dervishes,  but  these  dervishes  both 
howl  and  whirl,  which  makes  you  suspicious, 
for  a  dervish  is  apt  to  make  a  specialty  of  one 
or  the  other.  All  through  the  performance 
they  whirl  round  and  round  on  one  spot, 

89 


IN  BOHEMIA 

their  white  pleated  skirts  standing  out  straight 
from  the  waist.  Everywhere  you  look,  you 
see  those  fierce  eyes  that  suggest  murders  at  a 
dollar  apiece.  Here,  a  man  clad  only  in  one 
thin  white  garment,  transparent  in  texture, 
plunges  a  flaming  pine  knot  torch  under  the 
garment,  and  whirls  and  dances  as  though  a 
night-shirt  of  fire  was  his  greatest  comfort. 

There,  a  handsome  young  fellow  thrusts 
metal  skewers  through  his  cheeks  and  chin  and 
nose,  and  through  his  arms  and  thighs,  until 
he  looks  like  a  porcupine. 

Over  here,  a  man  is  thrusting  great  balls 
of  burning  wax  into  his  mouth  and  blowing 
out  the  smoke,  but  there  is  no  smell  of  burn 
ing  flesh,  so  you  can  only  wonder. 

Over  there,  a  man  is  biting  pieces  from  the 
edge  of  a  drinking-glass,  and  crunching  them 
with  apparent  enjoyment.  You  think  it  must 
be  some  transparent  gelatine,  but  you  pick 
up  a  bit  that  has  fallen  from  his  mouth,  and 
it  is  real  glass. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  dervishes,  one  of  them  a 
little  fellow  of  not  more  than  fifteen,  are  still 


IN  BOHEMIA 

whirling  on  the  same  spot  where  they  began 
an  hour  ago. 

All  around  you  the  windows  are  filled  with 
weird,  uncanny  faces,  some  veiled  to  the  eyes, 
applauding  with  hisses  and  grunts  the  feats  of 
the  fakirs.  Children  of  all  ages  and  sizes 
squat  around  the  edge  of  the  matting,  which 
constitutes  the  stage.  Everybody  squats  in 
the  Orient.  To  sit  down  in  the  dirt  of  the 
roadside  is  quite  the  fashionable  thing  with 
the  lower  orders. 

The  performance  is  over  at  about  one- 
thirty  A.  M.,  and  you  drive  to  the  Sphynx, 
which  is  the  Rector's  of  Cairo,  and  you  have 
your  salad  and  beer,  engineered  by  an  Ameri 
can  but  prepared  and  served  by  Frenchmen. 
Past  the  door  of  your  private  room,  you  see 
the  flitting  of  French  feathers,  you  hear  the 
chatter  of  French  voices,  and  you  wonder 
where  their  escorts  are.  No,  you  don't.  You 
know  where  they  are,  for  they  have  come  there 
for  them,  but  you  wonder  who  they  are.  It 
is  three  o'clock,  and  so  you  hasten  to  your 
hotel  —  perhaps. 

91 


'  -«••      * 


THE  FIRST  FLIRTATION 


Time  —  The    Beginning 


Place  —  Paradise 


Dramatis  Persona; 


Sir  Adam  O'Sullivan 
Mile.  Eve  d'Enpassant 


A  Florist 
A  Soubrette 


In  the  blissful  bower  of  Eden, 

Several   thousand   years   ago, 
Man  was  made,  of  dust  and  water, 

So  his  name  was  "  Mud,"  you  know. 
But,  against  a  fence  they  placed  him, 

And  they  baked  him  in  the  sun, 
So   "  A   Brick "  became   old   Adam, 

When  the  sixth  day's  work  was  done. 
Then,  one  evening,  while  reclining 

'Neath  a  spreading  tree,  at  rest, 

92 


IN  BOHEMIA 

They  performed  an  operation, 

Underneath  his  fig-leaf  vest. 
They  cocained  his  little  riblet, 

And  they  took  it  quite  away, 
To   produce   a  lovely  woman, 

So  that  Adam  could  get  gay. 
And  he  did —   When  first  he  spied  her, 

He  took  off  his  fig-leaf  hat 
And  exclaimed:  "Ah!    There!  Me  Daisy!" 

Eve  replied  from  where  she  sat: 
'"'  Eef  I  am  not  mooch  meestaken, 

An'  I  do  not  teenk  I  am, 
Ees  zee  zhentleman  beefore  me, 

Zee  proprietaire,  Ad-dam?  " 

"  Thot's  moi  name,"  responded  Adam, 
"  An'  Oi'm  verry  plased  to  shtate 
You're  half-owner  in  this  garrden, 
Frum  this  verry  day  an'  date." 
"  Shall   I  haf  zee  lofely  pleasure, 

Zat  you  make  on  me  a  call?" 
"  Oi'll  be  there  at  six,  me  darlin', 
Thrunk  an'  hat-box,  grip  an'  all." 


93 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Then  the  lady  answered  softly: 
"  Pray,  excoose  me  sare,  I  beg, 
Eef,  on  veray  short  acquaintance, 

Zat  I  seem  to  pool  your  leg, 
Eef  eet  ees  you  mean  housekeeping, 

Zare  ees  mooch   I  mus'  procure. 
Can  you  let  me  haf  ten  dollare? 

I  mus'  see  zee  manicure, 
An'  zee,  w'at  you  call  —  zee  coiffeur, 

I  mus'  haf  some  chocolate, 
An'  —  Oh!   Zare  ees  many  trifles, 

W'ich  zee  lady,  up  to  date, 
Need  to  make  herself  attractive 

To  zee  paragon  of  men, 
Come  to  teenk,  I  shall  need  twenty, 

Eef  you  please,  anozzer  ten." 

"  Howly  Murther!"  shouted  Adam, 
"  Do  ye  think  Oi'm  goin'  ter  pay 
All  me  money  out  fer  nonsinse, 

In  that  millionairish  way? 
Oi'm  no  King  o'  Frinzied  Fynance. 

Oi'm  the  man  behind  the  hoe. 
An'  Oi've  run  behind  at  poker, 

94 


IN  BOHEMIA 

At  the  club,  a  wake  or  so, 
But   that's   only  timporary, 

An'  Oi'm  no  fynanshul  Wreck, 
If  ye  r'ally  need  some  thrifles, 

Oi  kin  wroite  ye  out  a  check." 

"  No,  sare,  please.     I  know  zat  beezness, 

I  haf  had  zee  checks  beefore, 
An'  zey  always  make  zee  laughter, 

Wen  I  show  zem  in  zee  store. 
In  zee  pawn-shop,  veray  easy, 

Wiz  your  fig-leaf  ovarecoat, 
You  shall  get,  w'ile  I  am  waiting, 

One,  two,  three  ten-dollare  note. 
Zen  you  gif  to  me  zee  teecket, 

An'  you  know,  wizout  a  doubt, 
Eef  zee   wezzer,  he  grow  coldare, 

I  weel  queeckly  take  him  out." 

"  Well!     Oi  loike  yer  nerve,"  said  Adam, 

But  he  couldn't  quite  refuse, 
And  her  stunning  Easter  bonnet, 

She  permitted  him  to  choose. 
Down  to  us,  through  all  the  ages, 
Come  the  customs  of  the  past, 
95 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Puppy  love  and  youthful  folly, 

Both  of  them  too  sweet  to  last. 
And  each  Spring  our  modern  fancies 

Lightly  turn  to  thoughts  of  love, 
Just  as,  in  that  ancient  garden, 

Billed  and  cooed  the  turtle-dove. 
But  the  moral  of  the  story 

Is  an  easy  one  to  note, 
That  in  Spring,  a  young  man  always 

Pawns  his  Winter  overcoat. 


96 


THE  LAMBS'   CLUB 

For  true,  broad-minded,  legitimate  Bohe- 
mianism,  the  Lambs'  Club  stands  for  the 
Simon-pure,  real  thing.  A  glance  over  its 
membership  roll  shows  men  who  "  do  some 
thing  "  to  a  greater  degree  than  that  of  any 
other  club  in  New  York.  It  is  to  New  York 
what  the  Savage  Club  is  to  London,  and  the 
Bohemian  Club  to  San  Francisco.  At  their 
monthly  gambols,  the  personelle  is  almost 
always  a  delight.  Stars  of  the  stage  and  lead 
ing  men  are  there  without  the  glamour  of  the 
footlights,  but  in  their  own  pleasing  person 
ality. 

Artists  of  renown,  musicians  of  note,  mana 
gers,  composers,  maestros,  millionaires,  and 
all-around  good  fellows  gather  together  to 
applaud  the  work  of  their  fellow  creatures  and 
creators.  There  are  no  set  faces  saying  to 
the  workers: 
97 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"  Make  me  laugh,  if  you  can."  "  I'd  like 
to  see  you  interest  me."  They  are  there  in  the 
spirit  of  Bohemian  brotherhood,  and  eager  to 
enjoy. 

The  waiting  list  is  a  long  one,  and  the  club 
has  reached  the  point  where  it  is  a  recognized 
honour  to  be  elected  to  membership,  and  a 
matter  for  congratulation,  if  your  name  is,  for 
one  reason  or  another,  placed  high  up  on  the 
waiting  list. 

The  actor  is  proverbially  Bohemian,  and 
while  the  Lambs  embrace  all  the  arts,  and 
while  painting,  sculpture,  music,  and  litera 
ture  are  vigorously  represented  on  the  roster, 
the  actor  has  given  it  unmistakably  the  touch 
that  is  recognized  as  Bohemian.  The  plan 
of  the  present  club-house  fosters  the  idea,  and 
the  plans  for  the  new  one  are  intended  to 
preserve  it.  There  is  only  a  step  between 
bar  and  billiard-table,  and  only  another  step 
to  the  grillroom. 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  sight  to  see  half  a 
dozen  men  sitting  around  a  table,  each  one  of 
whom,  to  put  it  paradoxically,  stands  alone 

98 


IN  BOHEMIA 

in  his  chosen  profession.  While  the  spirit 
of  bon  camaraderie  is  always  in  the  air,  it  is 
perhaps  most  apparent  at  the  supper-table, 
after  the  gambol  which  takes  place  once  a 
month.  The  Shepherd,  Mr.  Clay  Green,  who 
has  practically  made  the  club  his  life-work, 
during  the  past  few  years,  presides,  and  his 
well-chosen  words  announce  such  speakers 
or  singers  as  may  be  best  fitted  to  entertain 
and  amuse  or  interest.  When  such  men  as 
DeWolf  Hopper,  Wilton  Lackaye,  Nat  Good 
win,  Gus  Thomas,  and  William  H.  Crane 
begin  to  exchange  witticisms,  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  two  and  three  o'clock  finds  you  still  loath 
to  depart. 

The  objects  of  the  club  as  set  forth  in  the 
club-book  seem  prosaic  enough,  but  they 
mean  much  more  than  the  simple  words  im 
ply.  Perhaps  a  better  idea  of  the  spirit  of 
the  club  can  be  gained  from  the  following 
verses,  which  were  read  at  the  laying  of  the 
corner-stone  of  the  new  club-house  on  Forty- 
fourth  Street,  than  from  the  Book  of  By 
laws. 

99 


IN  BOHEMIA 

A   Prophecy 

As  when  the  sower  strides  across  the  land, 

The  harrowed  earth  beneath  his  sturdy  tread, 
And  from  the  seed  he  scatters  from  his  hand, 

The  golden  harvest  proudly  rears  its  head, 
So  shall  the  records  of  a  glad  to-day, 

Set  close  within  this  temple's  very  heart, 
Dispel  to-morrow's  clouds  and  shadows  gray 

And    through    the    future    play    their    silent 
part. 

Around  this  votive  stone,  for  many  a  year, 

Shall  cluster  those  who  come  for  good  in 
tent; 
Learning   to   love,   within   its   atmosphere, 

This  temple  to  the  man-child's  merriment. 
Our  sun  of  life  may  set,  within  the  year, 

The  hour-glass  drop  its  last  remaining  sands, 
But  reared  with  smiles  and  christened  with  a 
tear 

The  home  of  happiness  for  ever  stands. 

Not  left  behind  is  any  memory  sweet, 
Nor  do  ye  leave  associations  fond, 

100 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Here,  as  of  yore,  shall  tread,  with  silent  feet, 
The    friends    whose    souls   have    sought    the 

Great  Beyond. 
They   bridge    the    distance    'twixt   the   bygone 

years 

And  those  that  shall  be,  like  a  guiding  hand, 
Arming  your  strength  and  quieting  your  fears, 
And  cheering  onward  those  who  take  com 
mand. 

Above  the  lintel  of  each  door,  we  read 

The    old    Greek   maxim:     "Know   Thyself," 

and  more  — 
"  Be  True,"  and  these  alone  shall  build  a  creed 

Of  greater  worth  than  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Let  laughter,  song,  and  joyous  gifts  of  words, 

Find  every  crevice,  as  the  golden  glow 
Of    summer     sunbeams    finds    the    woodland 
birds, 

And  floods  with  music  all  the  earth  below. 

Here  stands  the  incarnate  proof  of  deeds  well 

done, 

Good-fellowship  uplifts  the  crown  to  bless 
101 


IN  BOHEMIA 

The  standard-bearers,  with  their  laurels  won, 
Whose   names   enrolled,   bespeak  the   word: 

"  Success." 

Small  need  for  praise,  in  this  auspicious  hour, 
For   those   who   have   so   ably   played   their 

parts, 

To  them  is  given  a  nobler,  richer  dower, 
The    beating    pulse    and    throb    of    grateful 
hearts. 

Here  buoyant  life  and  youth  spring  forth  anew, 
Full    armed    to    vanquish    serried    ranks    of 

care, 
The   hand-clasp   firm   of   those   who   dare   and 

do 
Half-way  meets  those  who  bravely  do  and 

dare. 
Heaven's    blessings    fall    upon    this    home    of 

mirth, 

Joy  linger  in  the  heart  of  all  its  tears, 
And   friendship's    bond,    the    best    there    is    of 

earth, 

Be  strengthened  and  reborn  through  all  the 
years. 

102 


"A   little   wine,"   the   Bible 

says, 
"  Just    for    the    stomach's 

sake," 

But  it   is  really   sinful 
To  take  away  a  skinful, 
A    quart    or    two    is    quite 
enough  to   take. 


five  thousand  dollar  portrait  ought  to 
flatter  a  bit  " 


CLAREMONT  FOR  BREAKFAST 

Sunday  is  ordered  a  day  of  rest,  and  that 
doesn't  mean  swearing  at  a  refractory  stud  or 
chasing  a  collar-button  with  profanity  in 
order  to  reach  morning  prayers  on  time. 
To  sleep  your  sleep  out,  have  your  coffee,  and 
browse  through  the  papers  of  a  Sunday  morn 
ing,  and  then  to  leisurely  saunter  over  to 
Durland's  and  jump  into  a  saddle,  enter  the 
park  at  Sixty-sixth  Street  and  follow  the 
bridle-path  until  Claremont  invites  you,  is  a 
much  better  prelude  to  the  true  spirit  of  the 
Sabbath  than  a  stiff-backed  pew  and  the 
glance  of  envious  eyes  when  a  particularly 
stunning  bonnet  passes  down  the  aisle. 
Planked  shad  in  season,  with  the  roes  scat 
tered  about  on  the  plank,  awaken  your  deepest 
devotion.  They  do  know  how  to  cook  it  up 
there,  and  their  sweetbreads  and  mushrooms 
on  toast  are  a  delight  to  the  soul. 
105 


IN  BOHEMIA 

You  are  not  obliged  to  go  there  on  horse 
back.  That  was  only  suggested  in  case  you 
might  prefer  it  to  the  cocktail  as  an  appetizer. 
It  is  quicker  and  quite  acceptable  to  go  there 
in  an  economical  way.  Take  the  subway  and 
whizz  past  the  dark  stations,  suddenly  emerg 
ing  into  the  Sabbath  morning  sunlight  as 
though  you  had  been  born  again. 

Dismount  —  no  —  alight,  I  had  forgotten  you 
were  not  on  horseback,  at  One  Hundred  and 
Tenth  Street,  and  take  the  short  walk  up  the 
hill.  At  twelve  o'clock  you  will  say:  "How 
foolish  to  come  here!  There's  nobody  about." 
But  at  twelve-fifteen,  you  will  exclaim:  "How 
bully!  Everybody  is  here." 

That  distinguished-looking  man,  with  the 
iron-gray,  wiry  hair,  is  Thaddeus,  the  artist 
who  painted  both  Leo  and  Pius  from  sittings 
at  the  Vatican,  and  wonderful  pictures  they 
are,  too.  There's  a  lady  two  tables  away  whom 
he  painted  awhile  ago,  but  they  don't  speak. 
She  said  the  picture  wasn't  fair,  and  he  said 
he  "  knew  "  it  was  right.  But  a  five  thousand 
dollar  portrait  ought  to  flatter  a  bit. 

106 


IN  BOHEMIA 

That  beautiful  pair  of  eyes  with  the  Paris 
creation  as  a  framework  is  a  countess  now, 
but  three  months  ago  —  well!  "Ten  thou 
sand  pounds  in  your  hand  if  you  marry  in  a 
year,"  said  her  sweetheart,  and  they  say  she 
paid  over  the  ten  thousand  for  an  earl,  just 
for  spite.  But  it  makes  her  interesting,  doesn't 
it? 

There's  May  Irwin  with  her  two  big  boys. 
She  has  just  published  a  cook-book  that  is 
half  jokes,  half  receipts,  and  two-thirds  mar 
gin  for  adding  recipes  as  you  fall  heir  to 
them. 

There  are  two  pretty  girls  just  coming  up 
the  road  on  horseback.  One  of  them  is  rid 
ing  astride,  and  it  proves  beyond  all  doubt 
that  astride  is  the  way  to  ride,  at  any  rate  for 
a  woman  of  her  figure.  In  a  victoria  just 
passing  them  is  a  well-known  personage,  if 
your  picture  in  the  Sunday  papers  creates  a 
personage.  She  purloined  the  cher  ami  of  one 
of  the  ladies  on  horseback  last  week,  and  in 
a  fit  of  desperation  the  lady  took  the  law  into 
her  own  hands  and  played  havoc  with  the 

107 


IN  BOHEMIA 

hair  of  the  personage.  Even  the  parson  at  the 
corner  table  is  showing  interest.  These  things 
do  make  people  glad  they  came  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  they  smack  a  little  of  sensational 
ism. 

There's  a  little  story  that  goes  with  nearly 
every  table.  Some  are  comic  and  some  are 
tragic,  but  they  keep  up  the  interest.  Try 
Claremont  for  breakfast  —  some  Sunday  morn 
ing.  It's  Bohemian. 

The  cheerful-faced  gentleman  over  there  is 
Bert  Stadelman,  the  chairman  of  the  building 
committee  of  the  new  Lambs'  Club.  There's 
no  doubt  of  his  Bohemianism.  He  may  com 
bine  business  with  pleasure,  for  that  is  a  fifty- 
dollar  breakfast,  but  why  not?  There  are  two 
lambs,  a  shepherd,  two  millionaires,  a  com 
poser,  and  an  author  at  the  table.  That  ought 
to  be  interesting. 


108 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 


There's  a  griffin,  set  high  on  that  cornice  there, 

On   that   towering   pile    of    stone, 
And  a  lion,  rampant,  at  either  end, 

Stands  guarding  his  corner  alone. 
As  you  gaze  aloft  at  that  dizzy  height, 

They  grin,  with  a  lifelike  glee, 
And   you   think:    "The   sculptor,  who   carved 
that  stone, 

What  a  wondrous  man  is  he!" 
But  climb  with  me  to  that  cornice  high, 

And  speechless  will  be  your  tongue; 
They   might   have    been   carved    by   an    Aztec 
child, 

In  the  days  when  the  world  was  young. 
So  rough  and  so  rugged  those  faces  grim, 
109 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Of  the  griffin  and  lions  bold; 
"  Chance  held  the  chisel,"  you  murmur  low, 

And  the  length  of  the  tale  is  told. 
But   back   of    those   blocks   stood   a   thinking 

mind, 

Which  knew  what  was  best  to  do, 
For   it  said:    "What   the   world   may   say   or 

think, 
Depends  on  the  point  of  view." 

The  wicked  young  man  of  the  Orient, 

With  a  dozen  dainty  wives, 
We  say,  in  this  civilized,  Christianized  land, 

Is  making  a  wreck  of  their  lives, 
And  we  send  to  him  quickly  a  godly  man, 

At  a  rate  that  is  easy  to  fix, 
And  say  he  is  doing  a  glorious  work, 

If  he  brings  him  down  to  six. 
There    are    sermons    in    stones.      There    are 
prayers  let  fall, 

Sometimes  with  an  oath  each  side. 
We  never  should  say:  " 'Tis  a  silver  shield," 

For  it  may  be  of  gold,  inside. 

110 


IN  BOHEMIA 

If  whatever  I  touch,  when  it  leaves  my  hand, 

Is  cleaner  than  when  it  came, 
I  can  look  the  whole  world  straight  in  the  face 

And  feel  no  blush  of  shame. 

If  an  Angelo,  in  the  chiselled  stone, 

Can  bid  the  pulses  start; 
If   Correggio,  with  immortal  brush, 

Can  send  a  glow  to  the  heart, 
Is  the  throb  and  thrill  of  human  life 

So  shocking,  so  vile  a  thing, 
That  we  must,  to-day,  to  Diana's  bath, 

A  modern  mantle  bring? 
Some  souls,  no  doubt,  live  nearer  God, 

Where  the  heart  of  Nature  sings, 
Each  bird  and  cloud  and  sunbeam  fair 

Sweet  peace,  as  tribute,  brings. 
We   potters   that  model   in   city   clay 

Must  mould  as  it  comes  to  our  hands. 
Not   "  What   we   need,"   "  What  we   want,"   is 
the  cry, 

We  answer  to  these  demands. 

The  text  of  the  preacher  in  Timbuctoo 
And  that  of  some  great  divine 
111 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Are  wide  apart  as  the  poles  of  the  earth, 
But  which  will  the  brighter  shine? 

The  words  of  the  one  may  beckon  sleep, 
While  the   preacher   of  Timbuctoo 

May  pluck  from  the  fire  a  burning  brand  — 
It  depends  on  the  point  of  view. 


I  have  written  songs  of  a  soulful  kind, 

Unprinted  they  still  remain; 
Have  voiced  some  love-lorn  madrigals, 

Begotten  in  pleasant  pain; 
Have  sung  a  few  brief  lullabys, 

And  mothers  have  said,  "  How  sweet!  " 
Have  written  hymns  for  the  Sunday  school; 

I  have,  hungry,  walked  the  street; 
I  have  taken  a  mythologic  tale 

And  placed  it  in  rhyming  verse; 
I  have  tried  to  make  it  cleaner,  because 

It    couldn't    be    very    much    worse; 
I  have  measured  its  wording  carefully, 

And  scanned  every  halting  line, 
Then  sent  it  forth,  and  the  verdict  was: 
"Say!     When  can  you  come  and  dine?" 

112 


IN  BOHEMIA 

So,  I'd  rather  live  in  the  heart  of  my  friends, 

And  smile,  while  life  is  sweet, 
Than  lay  up  treasures  in  some  fair  land, 

While,  living,  I  walk  the  street. 
And   the   question   comes:    "If   you   do   your 
best, 

What  else  is  there  left  to  do?" 
Oh!     If  only  the  world  would  learn  to  say: 
"  It  depends  on  the  Point  of  View." 


A  VERY  UNUSUAL  CIRJL 

Her  eyes  were  like  the  Summer  pearls, 

From  oysters'  bosoms  drawn. 
Her   teeth   were   like   red   roses   sweet, 

Her  nose  was  like  the  dawn. 
Her  great  broad  smile  was  fondly  fair, 

Her  ripe,  red  ears  were  small. 
Her  little  shoes  were  full  of  feet. 

I  love  her  best  of  all. 

At  night,  when  sunlight,  stars,  and  moons, 

Are  twinkling  in  the  sky, 
113 


IN  BOHEMIA 


We  meet  beneath  the  farmyard  wall, 

My  own  true  love  and  I. 
And  when  the  heavy,  sullen  clouds 

Their  beams   of  light  let  fall, 
She  flies  to  me  with  measured  tread. 

I  love  her  best  of  all. 

Some  day,  not  far,  perhaps  in  years', 

We  two  shall  married  be, 
And  on  the  swelling  waves  of  love, 

Drift   toward   eternity. 
And  in  that  land  beyond  the  sky, 

Where  song  and  sunbeams  dwell, 
It's  ten  to  one  my  usual  luck 

Will  make  my  life  a  hell. 


Be  slow  to  anger,  but  hit  hard  and  hit  first 
if  you  have  to. 


Tis  better  to  love  and  run  away  than  never 
to  have  loved  at  all. 

114 


ISntw 


Between  Whiles 


Chinatown  Belle 


SLUMMING  IN   CHINATOWN 

There  is  a  sinister  gleam  in  the  eye  of  a 
Chinaman,  and  a  sneaky  tread  about  his  cush 
ioned  shoes  that  make  him  a  fascinating 
object  in  about  the  same  way  that  a  pug  dog 
is  beautiful  to  the  eye.  You  can't  quite  explain 
it,  but  you  always  look  twice.  It  is  a  mis 
taken  idea,  however,  that  they  live  on  rats 
and  mice,  and  that  their  every-day  dessert  is 
a  fricasseed  bird's  nest. 

The  Chinatown  of  New  York  is  not  the 
Chinatown  of  San  Francisco,  and  yet  it  is 
big  enough  to  afford  much  pleasure  to  the  ob 
serving.  Two-thirds  of  the  Chinese  population 
are  absolutely  cleanly. 

The  usual   procedure  in  visiting   Chinatown 

is  to  take  the  Fourth  Avenue  car,  alighting  at 

Chatham  Square,  and  a  party  of  four  is  about 

right.     For   a  party   of  four   can   get   lost   in 

117 


IN  BOHEMIA 

a  crowd  without  attracting  the  attention 
which  follows  the  usual  sightseer.  The 
Chinese  play  at  the  Chinese  theatre,  which 
you  will  probably  visit  first,  usually  takes 
several  months  to  complete  the  story,  which 
is  apt  to  be  a  part  of  Chinese  history.  Part 
of  the  audience  sits  on  the  stage  with  the 
players  and  part  of  it  sits  on  the  back  of 
the  wooden  benches,  with  their  hats  on  their 
heads,  smoking  innumerable  cigarettes.  The 
banging  of  gongs,  the  pounding  on  cymbals, 
the  squeak  of  the  Chinese  voice,  and  the 
general  buzz  of  conversation,  make  a  bedlam 
of  the  place  that  is  not  soon  forgotten.  They 
are  simply  marvellous  in  the  manner  of  paint 
ing  their  faces  and  in  their  wonderful  make 
ups,  and  the  men  who  play  the  parts  of  women 
are  inimitable.  After  a  half  or  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  in  the  theatre,  it  is  natural  to  drop 
into  the  Joss  House,  where  an  attending  priest 
is  very  glad  to  receive  your  tip,  and  an 
additional  one  for  burning  some  perfumed 
sticks  in  front  of  an  impossible  god,  and 
another  tip  for  telling  your  fortune  by  shak- 

118 


IN  BOHEMIA 

ing  out  some  well-worn  bamboos  on  his  knees 
in  front  of  the  great  altar,  telling  your  fortune 
with  wondrous  precision,  which  usually  ends 
up  with  a  happy  marriage  and  lots  of  money, 
so  you  have  not  wasted  your  half-dollar. 
Then,  if  you  pick  out  the  right  Chop  Suey 
House,  you  will  find  that  the  kitchen  is  in  plain 
sight,  and  the  copper  vessels  are  burnished 
so  that  they  shine  like  mirrors,  the  meats  and 
vegetables  are  spread  out  on  the  cleanest  of 
pine  tables,  so  that  you  may  know  exactly 
what  you  are  getting,  and  that  it  is  abso 
lutely  clean  and  neat.  Then  you  go  into  a  little 
private  room  attended  by  a  polite  Chinese  boy, 
who  says  witty  things  for  you,  and  you  par 
take  of  inimitable  tea  in  quaint  cups  and  sau 
cers,  with  inverted  saucers  over  the  tops  of 
the  cups  to  keep  the  steaming  fragrance  within 
so  that  you  can  taste  it.  You  see  the  large  tea- 
leaves  floating  in  the  boiling  water,  and  you 
get  personally  acquainted  with  it  before  it 
tickles  your  palate.  Then  comes  the  Chop 
Suey,  which  is  usually  the  piece  de  resistance, 
and  Heaven  knows  what  mysterious  side  dishes 
119 


IN  BOHEMIA 

accompany  it.  Although  the  Chinese  are  sup 
posed  to  live  very  cheaply,  they  manage  to 
charge  you  twenty-five  cents  a  portion  for 
Lychee  nuts  and  twenty-five  cents  a  cup  for 
tea,  if  you  have  satisfied  them  you  want  the 
best,  and  if  you  really  get  curious  and  want  to 
taste  shark  fins,  the  tariff  jumps  to  two  dol 
lars.  If  you  are  in  touch  with  a  detective  in 
the  neighbourhood,  he  probably  will  take  you 
where  you  can  see  people  hitting  the  pipe, 
but  these  opium-smoking  layouts  are  very 
apt  to  be  fakes.  I  found  a  very  interesting 
case  one  night,  where  a  very  pretty  white 
girl,  with  an  attractive  manner,  was  indulging 
in  an  evening  of  opium-smoking  with  the 
Chinese  partner  of  her  Chinese  husband.  She 
had  proceeded  far  enough  in  the  opium-smok 
ing  to  believe  that  some  one  had  put  a  curse 
upon  her,  and  that  by  deadening  her  sensi 
bilities  she  could  tide  over  the  time  until  the 
curse  ran  out.  The  Chinese  partner  was  the 
soul  of  courtesy  to  her,  and  there  was  really 
as  much  decorum  in  his  attitude  toward  the 
lady  as  you  find  when  the  minister  called  for 

120 


IN  BOHEMIA 

tea  with  Mrs.  Highflyer.  A  strip  of  matting 
had  been  thrown  across  a  very  neat  bed,  and  at 
the  side  of  the  bed  a  diagonal  table  held  the 
layout.  The  Chinese  partner  would  cook  a 
little  pill  of  opium,  place  it  on  the  bowl  of  the 
pipe,  and,  after  puffing  it  to  the  proper  point, 
would  hand  it  to  the  lady,  after  wiping  the 
mouthpiece,  and  she  would  take  a  few  puffs, 
handing  it  back  to  him.  After  a  few  inhala 
tions,  he  would  pass  it  back  to  her.  Neither  of 
them  went  into  a  comatose  condition  while 
we  were  there.  It  is,  of  course,  the  natural 
thing  to  buy  souvenirs,  silk  handkerchiefs, 
beads,  ivory  back-scratchers,  carved  figures  in 
ivory,  and  one  would  think,  from  the  supply  on 
hand,  that  all  the  inhabitants  of  Japan  carved 
ivory  day  and  night  to  supply  the  souvenir 
hunters.  You  can  do  Chinatown  very  nicely 
and  be  at  home  before  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 


121 


OVER  THE  ROSE 

The  rose  lay  soft  in  her  two  pink  palms, 

As  red  as  the  lips  above  it, 
And  the  petals  seemed  to  ask  an  alms, 

As  she   leaned  to  kiss  and  love  it. 
It  gave  its  fragrance  and  beauty,  too, 

To  the  lips  that  bent  to  press  it, 
Its  life  went  out  and  its  hour  was  through, 

When  she  cared  not  to  caress  it. 

It  laid  unnoticed,  a  breathing  space, 

A  broken  thing,  neglected, 
And  then,  across  her  fair,  young  face, 

Regret  was  swift  reflected. 
'  I  am  so  sorry,"  murmured  she, 
"  Poor,  shattered,  faded  flower." 
And  on  her  warm  heart,  tenderly, 
It  nestled  for  an  hour. 

122 


OUT  OF  THE  LONG  AGO 


He  had  loved  her  mother  in  the  long  ago, 
but  the  infatuation  of  a  day  had  become  the 
regret  of  a  lifetime  for  the  mother  whose 
pride  and  ambition  had  outstepped  her  reason, 

123 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  the  man  of  principle  had  been  forced  to 
step  aside  for  the  man  of  dash. 

Then  came  a  few  hours  of  excitement,  mis 
taken  for  happiness,  while  the  glamour  lasted 
for  the  woman. 

Then  the  child  came  and  then  neglect  and 
then  severity.  Brutality  would  have  followed, 
in  course  of  time,  but  merciful  death  inter 
vened,  and  the  man  of  principle  came  out  of 
his  seclusion  and  sorrow  and  came  forward 
first  with  aid,  then  with  sympathy,  and  finally 
with  a  protection  so  free  from  selfishness 
that  it  won  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  the 
place  he  should  have  occupied  in  the  long 
ago. 

But  he  could  not  forget  that  he  had  been 
denied  the  first  full  fragrance  of  what  he  had 
thought  the  fairest  flower  in  Love's  garden. 
He  could  not  say:  "  Give  me  the  remnants 
of  your  shattered  dreams." 

And  so  the  years  had  come  and  gone,  and 
he  had  found  a  sad,  sweet  satisfaction  in  the 
companionship  of  the  woman,  and  he  had  rec 
ognized,  at  times,  the  wistful  look  in  the  eyes, 

124 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  had   answered   it   with   a   tenderness   that 
only  partly   masked   his   stern   resolve. 

In  the  short  vacations,  when  the  child  had 
come  home  from  the  convent,  it  had  warmed 
his  heart  to  see  the  little  bud,  nurtured  by  him, 
unfolding  in  the  likeness  of  the  blossom  he 
had  loved,  and  when,  at  last,  the  mother's  eyes 
were  closed  in  the  last  long  sleep,  he  went 
away,  still  faithful  to  the  dream  of  the  long 
ago. 

Each  week  he  made  it  a  pleasure,  as  well  as 
a  duty,  to  give  the  child  a  record  of  his  wan 
derings,  and  each  week  she  opened  her  heart 
to  him  in  the  fulness  of  her  girlish  confidence, 
and  told  him  all  there  was  to  tell  of  the  sor 
rows  and  joys  of  her  young  life. 

And  he,  from  afar,  began  to  notice  that  the 
cramped  and  studied  handwriting  was  taking 
on  an  easier  flow.  The  methods  of  expression 
were  rounding  out,  and  her  protestations  of 
affection  were  becoming  more  delicately  subtle, 
until,  by  day  and  night,  a  desire  beset  him 
to  return  and  see  with  his  own  eyes  if  the 
promises  of  childhood  had  been  fulfilled. 
125 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"  It  shall  be  my  duty  to  find  for  her  a  worthy 
mate.  She  must  not  make  her  mother's  mis 
take,"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again  to 
himself. 

But  when  all  the  splendour  of  her  youth 
and  beauty  and  wealth  of  colour  and  vivacity, 
her  strangely  blended  harmony  of  wit  and 
thoughtfulness,  became  apparent  to  him,  he 
found  it  hard  to  decide,  among  those  about 
her,  which  should  meet  encouragement  at  his 
hands.  He  placed  her  in  surroundings  that 
were  befitting;  called  her  his  "Little  Queen," 
and  became  in  a  half-jesting  way  a  courtier 
in  her  train. 

Christmas,  New  Year's,  and  Easter,  as  well 
as  birthdays,  were  gala-days  for  him,  for  then 
he  might  count  upon  three  distinct  throbs  of 
happiness:  the  planning,  the  giving,  and  her 
receiving.  It  was  all  so  sweet  and  so  hope 
less.  He  found  himself  regretting  the  white 
hairs  at  his  temples,  not  because  they  were 
unbecoming,  for  they  softened  an  otherwise 
stern  face,  but  because  they  told  of  the  years 
that  made  the  barrier. 

126 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Then  came  the  time  when,  with  a  pain  at 
the  heart  but  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  he 
found  that  he  must  say  "  Yes "  to  the  suitor 
who  sought  her,  and  then,  feverishly,  he 
waited. 

Each  day  seemed  longer  than  the  one  before 
it  until,  at  last,  in  stammering  words,  he 
asked  if  nothing  had  been  said. 

And  it  was  not  a  child  who  answered  him, 
but  a  woman,  speaking  from  the  fulness  of 
her  heart  and  with  all  the  knowledge  that 
comes  with  the  subtle  intuitions  of  women, 
like  a  gift  from  God. 

"  Oh,  Nunky!  Don't  you  think  I  know? 
Don't  you  think  I  see?  Don't  you  think  I 
feel  and  care?  Yes.  He  asked  me.  And  I 
wanted  to  strike  him.  I  don't  know  why. 
Yes,  I  do.  He  would  have  put  his  arm  around 
me,  deliberately,  consciously,  because  he  had 
your  permission  to  seek  me,  and  I  hated  him. 
Yours  is  about  me  now,  and  you  hardly  know 
it,  because  it  belongs  there,  and  I  want  to 
kiss  you.  All  that  I  ever  hope  to  find  of 
honour  and  integrity  and  all  that  goes  to  make 
127 


IN  BOHEMIA 

a  man  a  woman's  ideal  I  find  in  you.  Now 
do  you  understand?  Now  do  you  know  how 
I  want  to  show  you  that  the  gratitude  of  the 
child  can  become  the  love  of  the  woman?" 

But  he  could  only  say,  in  husky  tones: 
"  Thirty  years,  my  child,  thirty  years." 

And  she  could  only  answer:  "Your  heart 
is  younger  than  his.  Your  life  is  whiter  than 
his.  Could  anything  make  a  woman  happier 
than  to  feel  that  a  young  heart  and  a  white 
life  were  her  own  to  worship  and  adore  and  to 
follow?  " 

And  then,  all  the  pent-up  love  and  tender 
ness  and  passion  of  his  mature  years  swept 
'round  her  like  a  tide.  All  the  fragrance  of  her 
opening  heart  filled  his  life  and  soul,  and 

Love  is  love,  though  the  skies  may  fall. 
Hearts  have  no  birthdays,  after  all. 


128 


IxOtt 


The  Roast 


Daughter  of  Little  Hungary 


LITTLE  HUNGARY  AND  THE 
BOULEVARD 

There  was  a  time  when  Little  Hungary  at 
the  Cafe  Liberty  and  the  Boulevard  were 
interesting,  but  that  was  before  they  became 
show  places.  Notoriety  kills  the  true  Bohe 
mian  atmosphere.  It  is  when  things  are 
primitive  and  natural  and  sweet  that  the  spirit 
of  Bohemia  satisfies. 

In  the  old  days,  when  the  Cafe  Liberty  did 
not  mean  unnecessary  liberties,  and  when 
dinner  was  served  down  in  the  long  aisles 
between  the  vats,  and  your  wine  was  siphoned 
out  of  a  bung-hole  with  a  rubber  tube,  and 
when  each  party  had  the  particular  attention 
of  the  chef,  then  it  was  worth  while.  Even 
the  orchestra,  which  did  so  much  for  the 
Boulevard,  has  moved  up-town  now,  and  holds 
forth  at  the  Cafe  des  Ambassadeurs.  The 
President's  visit  to  Little  Hungary  was  a  boom 
for  it,  of  course,  but  it  has  changed  from  the 

131 


IN  BOHEMIA 

genuine  Bohemia  to  the  artificial.  The  mo 
ment  you  try  to  make  a  place  Bohemian  you 
are  pretty  sure  to  make  it  common.  Both 
these  places  have  become  wholesale  suppliers 
of  the  cheap  table  d'hote,  with  the  Hungarian 
wines  that  made  them  famous  now  manu 
factured  on  the  premises,  if  the  statements  of 
some  of  those  high  in  authority  are  to  be 
believed. 

It  used  to  take  two  or  three  hours  to  prop 
erly  attend  to  the  menu.  Now  you  can  rush 
through  in  half  an  hour,  thanks  to  the  mechan 
ical  improvements  in  the  way  of  dish-washing 
machines,  automatic  knife  polishers,  and  extra 
waiters.  Then,  too,  the  novelty  has  worn 
off.  To  the  visitor  from  Kalamazoo  it  is  still 
noisy  enough  and  bustling  enough  to  satisfy. 
Some  people  love  to  wait  and  fight  and 
clamour  for  a  table,  and  are  jubilant  for  a 
whole  evening  if  a  half-dollar  tip  secures  it 
ten  minutes  sooner  than  it  would  have  come 
naturally. 

But  here,  as  elsewhere,  the  right  spirit 
often  asserts  itself  and  good-fellowship  reigns 

132 


IN  BOHEMIA 

supreme.  Adjoining  tables  get  sociable  and 
finally  unite  around  one  table  to  get  better 
acquainted.  The  sour  wines  and  ghostly 
soup,  the  thin  slabs  of  thin  fish,  the  spaghetti 
and  the  Parmesan  cheese  of  Bohemia,  are  all 
there,  so  of  course  it  must  be  Bohemia. 


133 


THE  BACHELOR  TAX 

Are  not  the  laws  of  life  sufficiently  unjust? 
Or    must    all    bachelors    join    an    anti-nuptial 
trust? 

Because  they  fail  to  wed,  ye  call  their  morals 

lax, 
And  at  each  level  head  the  spinsters  aim  a  tax. 

In  other  words,  the  girl,  whose  charms  begin 

to  fade, 
First,  takes  her  little  whirl,  then  sniffles  to  be 

paid. 

For,  if  the  tax  comes  in,  collected  by  the  state, 
Of   course   it  will    go   out   to   girls   without   a 
mate. 

And,  given  bread  and  meat  and  one  new  dress 
a   season, 

134 


IN  BOHEMIA 

What  girl  would  wed  at  all,  for  that's  the 
usual  reason? 

Why,  bachelors  are  taxed.  Each  Tiffany  wed 
ding-card, 

That  gluts  his  morning  mail,  not  only  hits  him 
hard 

For  ladles,  jugs,  and  lamps,  cream-pitchers, 
silver  spoons, 

But  kills  his  faith  in  friends,  when  lovers  act 
like  loons. 

He's  taxed  by  Mrs.  Smith,  who  bids  him  to  her 
tea. 

He's  taxed  by  Mr.  Smith,  who  strikes  him  for 
a  "V." 

He's  taxed  by  Mrs.  Brown,  whose  overtures 
perplex, 

He's  taxed  by  Mr.  Brown,  who  needs  a  tran 
sient  "  X." 

He's  taxed  by  Mrs.  Jones,  who  has  two  buxom 
girls, 

And   crams   them    down   his   throat,   until   his 

reason  whirls. 
135 


IN  BOHEMIA 

He's  taxed  by  husbands  gay,  who  come  to  him 

and  cry: 
"  I  said  I  was  with  you.    Will  you  back  up  the 

lie?" 
He's  taxed  at  dinner-time,  with  partners  that 

don't    suit, 
Two   hours   of   senseless   gush,  then,    carriage 

hire  to  boot. 
And  other  trifling  things,  not  quite  worth  while 

to  note, 
When  valets  tax  him  with  the  powder  on  his 

coat. 

No!     Let  the  bachelor  dream  his  vision  celi 
bate, 
The  aftermath  of  joy  will  catch  him,  soon  or 

late. 

And  when,  rotund  and  rich,  white-haired  and 

getting   old, 

At  last,  he  finds  the  bud,  just  ready  to  be  sold, 
Then   comes   the   tax   supreme,   with    many   a 

bitter  hurt, 
He    stays    at    home    with    gout    and    growls, 

"How   she   can    flirt!" 

136 


SLUMMING 

Slumming  usually  means  paying  a  price  to 
see  others  do  things  you  wouldn't  do  your 
self  for  the  world,  and  which  perhaps  they 
wouldn't  do  except  for  the  price  you  pay.  It 
is  probably  a  perverted  curiosity,  but  it  has 
been  done  since  the  world  began,  and  will  be 
done  until  we  all  stand  on  the  ragged  head 
lands  of  the  eternal  future  reading  the  story 
of  our  lives  with  too  much  light  from  the  lurid 
flames.  But  why  anticipate? 

Just  where  to  draw  the  line  at  sightseeing 
is  a  difficult  problem.  Often,  with  the  health 
iest  intent,  we  find  the  undercrust  of  life  very 
brown,  and  again,  with  malice  aforethought, 
we  seek  the  unusual  and  come  home  with  a 
lesson  learned  of  patience,  industry,  or  resigna 
tion.  The  involuntary  resident  of  the  slums 
is  blameless,  and  therefore  should  be  free 
from  prying  eyes,  and  the  voluntary  resident 
137 


IN  BOHEMIA 

is  sure  to  prepare  a  fake  which  does  not  show 
you  the  "  low  life "  which  you  are  seeking. 
Some  of  the  boys  of  sixty-eight  or  thereabouts 
slum  regularly.  They  have  to  sow  wild  oats 
regularly  to  reap  the  harvest  when  going  on 
tears.  Others  slum  at  home.  Whether  the 
experiences  of  slumming  expeditions  accen 
tuate  optimism  by  contrast  is  a  moot  point. 
If  it  creates  a  desire  for  frequent  repetition, 
it  may  prove  that  pessimism  is  contagious. 

You  may  take  your  choice,  but  in  one  case, 
at  least,  you  "  pays  your  money,"  and  plenty 
of  it. 


Ttt 


A  man  is  known  by  the  company  he  keeps  — 
especially  a  theatrical  manager. 


A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath  —  unless 
the  wrath  is  about  money. 

138 


Champagne!    Champagne! 
The   peasant   girls'   im 
prisoned    laughter, 
So  they  say. 

Champagne!    Champagne! 
But     what     about     the 
morning  after, 
And  all  next  day? 


The  Night  Before 


The  Morning  Mfter 


BOHEMIANISM  AT  MADISON  SQUARE 

At  intervals  Bohemianism  becomes  epidemic 
in  the  vicinity  of  Madison  Square.  The  beau 
tiful  tower  is  ablaze  with  lights  which  show 
the  chaste  Diana  in  her  scanty  garb  at  the  top, 
but  underneath  are  goddesses  of  the  genus 
Venus,  almost  as  scantily  clothed,  but  different, 
very  different  in  disposition  from  the  cold 
Diana.  The  chilly  and  virtuous  hunter  of 
the  stag  personified  at  the  top  of  the  tower 
is  eclipsed  by  the  painted  and  bedizened 
hunters  of  the  wine-openers  on  the  floors  be 
low. 

The  Arion  Ball  is  the  most  pretentious  of 
these  Bohemian  epidemics,  for  the  expense 
incurred  in  the  matter  of  allegorical  floats 
makes  a  good  excuse  for  the  attendance  of 
many  who  would  not  dream  of  attending  the 
ball  of  the  French  Students,  or  the  Circle  de 
Harmonic,  or  the  Ball  of  the  French  Cooks, 
141 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  might  even   draw  the  line   at  the   Patri 
arch's    Ball. 

On  the  massive  floats  at  the  Arion  Ball, 
hundreds  of  women  are  betighted  in  silk,  and 
hundreds  more  are  betighted  in  the  boxes, 
but  this  does  not  become  apparent  until  after 
the  so-called  respectable  element  has  departed 
somewhere  near  midnight.  To  the  uninitiated 
eye  there  is  something  eminently  respectable 
about  the  motherly  lady  of  broad  dimensions, 
in  a  pink  or  black  domino,  vigorously  chaper 
oned  by  a  sable  Ethiope  in  the  back  of  the 
box,  and  around  her,  clucking  vigorously,  you 
will  find  a  brood  of  (shall  we  say?)  little  chicks 
in  all  their  guileless  innocence,  not  always 
waiting  for  formal  introductions  before  in 
dulging  in  ad  libitum  conversations  with 
generous  strangers.  The  scene  on  the  floor 
of  the  garden  is  a  surging  crowd  throwing 
paper  rolls  and  confetti  into  the  air,  but  not 
always  into  the  air,  for  much  of  it  is  carried 
away  from  the  place  in  quarters  not  abso 
lutely  unapproachable  through  the  misapplied 
energy  of  hilarious  visitors.  The  sight  on 

142 


IN  BOHEMIA 

the  floor,  however,  is  not  as  intense  as  some 
of  the  sights  to  be  seen  in  the  wine-room, 
where  corks  are  popping  and  glasses  are  siz- 
zing  and  tongues  growing  thicker  with  each 
succeeding  round  of  what  they  call  the  im 
prisoned  laughter  of  the  peasant  girls  of 
France.  And  even  the  scenes  in  the  wine- 
room  are  occasionally  discounted  by  some 
of  the  happenings  in  the  shadows  of  some  of 
the  upper  boxes.  A  casual  stroll  along  some 
of  the  corridors,  where  the  box  doors  have 
been  left  open  by  chance  or  design,  becomes 
a  sort  of  vivid  biograph. 

At  just  what  hour  Bohemianism  steps  out 
and  Revelry  steps  in,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
state,  each  box  party  often  being  a  law  unto 
itself.  In  the  old  days,  before  the  district 
attorney  insisted  upon  complimentary  tickets 
for  the  police,  the  flash  of  silk  tights  has  been 
seen  tripping  the  entire  length  of  the  building 
on  the  dress-coated  shoulders  of  enthusiastic 
revellers,  but  the  wild  spirit  of  old  King  Carni 
val  has  given  way  in  recent  years  to  the  more 
sophoric  charms  of  Bacchus.  There  are  many 
143 


IN  BOHEMIA 

good  Bohemians  who  would  sniff  disdainfully 
at  the  after  midnight  performance  at  some  of 
these  balls,  and  there  are  others  who  would 
consider  it  an  unpardonable  sin  to  leave  the 
place  before  daybreak.  Even  in  mighty  Wall 
Street  on  the  day  after  these  prodigious  affairs, 
there  is  apt  to  be  a  twinkle  in  the  eye  of 
business  men  as  they  meet,  and  omitted  cigars 
and  overlooked  luncheons  are  the  order  of  the 
day,  while  "  A  little  absinthe,  please,"  be 
speaks  a  shortage  in  recuperative  powers. 
Some  get  the  habit  and  go  to  them  all,  but 
they  die  early  and  die  poor. 


'Mind,  your  own  business!" 


144 


A  TOAST  TO  THE  MAN'S  MAN 

Ah!     drink  if  you  will  to  the  handsome  man, 

O'er   the  proud  athlete   undaunted, 
And  toast  him  too,  the   husband  true, 

Whose  faith  has  long  been  vaunted, 
And  drink  to  the  strong  and  manly  man, 

But  lift  your  glasses  higher, 
When  the  toasts  ring  out,  in  a  merry  shout 

For  the  man  that  men  admire. 

Aye!    drink  to  the  loyal,  faithful  man, 

Who  will  fight  for  the  right  for  ever, 
Who   will   strive   for   his   friends,   till   the   old 
world    ends, 

With   a   firm   and   strong   endeavour. 
Drink  long  and  deep,  with  a  royal  toast, 

Ne'er  writ  by  a  poet's  pen, 
Drink  night  and  day,  if  his  friends  all  say 

He  is  loved  by  his  fellow  men. 
145 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  drink  if  you  will  to  the  man  who  stands 

With  the  stars  and  stripes  above  him 
In  the  battle  strife,  and  gives  his  life 

While  the  men  of  the  nation  love  him, 
And  drink  to  the  man  who  proudly  stands, 

While  the  lesser  men  get  mellow, 
Till  the  rafters  ring  as  they  rise  and  sing, 

To  the  health  of  a  jolly  good  fellow. 


146 


THEY  MET  IN  THE  RAIN 

She  was  as  dainty  as  dainty  could  be 

And  the  size  of  her  boot  was  less  than  three. 

The  wind  was  blowing,  and  so,  you  see, 

It  was  hard  to  make  her  way. 
Her  skirts  were  buffeted,  here  and  there. 
Her  hat  was  askew,  but  she  didn't  care. 
Her  cheeks  were  aglow.    She  was  mightily  fair, 

In  spite  of  the  rainy  day. 

He  was  as  lonesome  as  lonesome  could  be 
And  he  held  his  umbrella  quite  carelessly, 
Down  over  his  head,  and  he  couldn't  foresee 

The   collision  ahead  that  day. 
A  shriek  and  an  "  Oh!  "  —  an  embarrassed  pair, 
In  the  pelting  rain,  and,  standing  there, 
He  stammered:   "I'm  sorry,  but  we  can  share 

Our  lot,  on  a  rainy  day." 
147 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  he  grew  as  happy  as  happy  could  be, 

As   he   noted   the   boots   that   were   less   than 

three, 
As  well  as  the  face  that  was  fair  to  see, 

And  their  chatter  was  blithe  and  gay. 
The   old  umbrella   is  worn  threadbare, 
But  the  children,  rushing  to  school,  don't  dare 
To  take  it  away  from  its  corner  there, 

No  matter  how  rainy  the  day. 


Every  gay  dog  has  his  —  date. 


Marriage     is     one     fool  —  encouraging     the 
foolishness   of  another. 


Actions  speak  louder  than  words  —  but  look 
out  for  the  echo. 

148 


Jt  Little  Gamey 


>t 


One  of  the  Many 


LA  VIE  PARISIENNE 

There  are  as  many  grades  and  shades  of 
Bohemianism  in  Paris  as  there  are  colours  in 
the  solar  spectrum. 

La  Boheme,  both  the  opera  and  the  book, 
reflect  faithfully  the  Bohemia  of  the  work-a- 
day  world,  where  a  play  accepted  at  the 
Comedie  Francaise  meant  opportunity  to 
borrow  rather  than  direct  revenue,  or  a  pic 
ture  on  the  line  meant  free  meals  for  a 
season. 

In  the  Quartier  Latin,  you  will  find  very 
respectable  Bohemian  ladies  of  sixteen  to 
forty-eight,  who  pinch  and  economize  and 
work  overhours  to  gain  the  sustenance  neces 
sary  to  live  in  the  atmosphere  of  art  for  art's 
sake.  Respectable  matrons,  who  copy  the 
masters  ancient  and  modern  for  a  pittance, 
rub  elbows  with  befurbelowed  grisettes  and 
151 


IN  BOHEMIA 

cocottes  at  table  d'hotes  that  quite  satisfy  for 
a  franc  or  two. 

Typical  Bohemia  gathers  at  the  Cafe  de 
Paris  after  the  theatre,  and  the  beauties  you 
have  seen  at  the  Moulin  Rouge  or  the  Mari- 
gny  are  there  sipping  their  wines  and  smoking 
their  cigarettes,  while  intense  Frenchmen 
devour  them  with  amorous  eyes,  forgetful  of 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

Then  there  is  d'Armenoville  and  Madrid  and 
the  Cascade  in  the  Bois  where  Bohemia  be 
comes  a  pageant  and  where  the  lily-like 
beauties  acquire  the  coleur  de  rose  and  plan  for 
the  more  intense  Bohemia  of  later  hours. 

No  one  will  refuse  to  admit  that  slumming 
in  Paris  leaves  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth. 

The  demi-monde  of  Paris  impresses  you  with 
the  idea  that  it  will  be  anything,  say  anything, 
do  anything  you  wish  for  a  few  francs.  There 
are  no  limitations  and  no  restrictions.  And 
yet  there  is  a  side  to  the  Bohemianism  of 
Paris  which  conveys  the  idea  that  there  is 
more  deviltry  in  the  atmosphere  than  real 
wickedness.  Things  that  would  shock  and  dis- 

152 


IN  BOHEMIA 

gust  anywhere  except  in  Paris,  are  looked 
upon  as  naturally  in  a  so-called  legitimate  line 
of  business,  and  must  be  seen  and  paid  for 
only  in  that  spirit. 

But  for  every  bit  of  irregularity  which  may 
or  may  not  jar  upon  your  senses,  Paris  offers 
something  attractive  and  clean  and  artistic  and 
delightful  as  compensation. 

But  Paris  is  certainly  feverish.  The  people 
themselves  are  hot-headed  and  impulsive,  and 
strangers  absorb  the  same  tendency  in  a  few 
days.  There  is  so  much  to  be  seen  and  so 
many  things  to  be  done  that  you  jump  from 
fiacre  to  hansom  and  hansom  to  brougham 
until  you  are  dizzy. 

Comparing  the  Bohemian  life  of  London, 
New  York,  and  Paris,  you  must  add  exclama 
tion  points  to  make  it  American  and  a  lot 
more  to  make  it  Parisienne,  with  a  goodly 
number  of  interrogation  marks  for  contem 
plation  when  the  fever  leaves  you. 


153 


THE  FIVE  SENSES 

A  Toast 

With  the  sense  of  sight,  I  greet  you, 
In  the  wine-cup's  sparkling  glow. 

With  the  sense  of  hearing  meet  you, 
As  we  clink  our  glasses  —  so. 

With  the  sense  of  touch,  I  hail  you, 

In  a  score  of  little  sips; 
With  the  sense  of  smell  regale  you, 

As  it  lingers  on  your  lips. 

With  the  sense  of  taste  I  toast  you, 

As  delight  steals  on  apace, 
And  the  lack  of  a  friend  is  the  ghost  you 

Shall  feel  you  may  never  face. 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  MANICURE  MAID 

Many  of  the  manicure  parlours  have  devel 
oped  into  cosy  corners,  half-concealed  and 
half-revealed,  where  hands  can  be  held  profes 
sionally  and  otherwise,  and  where 

Toes  may  telegraph 

To  toes  that  speak  again. 

If  you  listen,  which  you  wouldn't,  you 
might  catch  little  bits  of  this  kind: 

"  Have  you  heard  —  ?  " 

"  That  reminds  me." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it." 

"  You  mustn't  do  that  in  business  hours." 

"  Better  make  it  half -past." 

"  I'll  telephone  if  I  can  get  out." 

"  I  certainly  shouldn't  go  just  for  the  fun 
of  it.  Life's  too  short." 

It's  a  dangerous  business,  this  manicuring, 
155 


IN  BOHEMIA 

from  whichever  side  of  the  cushion  you  con 
sider  it.  The  bowl  of  tinted  water  is  a  non 
conductor  part  of  the  time  but  the  magnetic 
currents  get  started  much  more  rapidly  when 

Fingers  slim  in  strong  palms  trembling 

invite  a  deeper  interest  in  the  home  life  of  her 
who  must  have  some  few  little  sorrows  to  con 
fide. 

His  home  life  is  very  apt  to  be  unsatisfying, 
too,  and  woman,  especially  young  woman,  is 
equipped  with  a  sympathetic  heart  for  a  man 
whose  home  life  is  unsatisfying.  She  could 
make  it  all  so  different.  And  likely  enough 
she  does. 

Man  is  not  made  of  wood,  and  manicure 
maids  are  almost  as  temperamental  as  ac 
tresses.  Some  of  them  combine  the  two  pro 
fessions. 

If  I  were  a  wife,  and  had  to  send  away  the 
masseuse  or  the  manicure,  I'd  send  away  the 
manicure.  She  is  more  subtle,  and  the  spell 
is  more  lasting. 

156 


Drmi-tassr 


half  tltt  truth 


Cashier  at  JWacari's 


THE  CASHIER  AT  MACAWS 

Had  you  asked  him  why  he  dined  so  fre 
quently  at  Macari's,  he  would  have  answered: 
"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  the  service  suits 
me." 

And  yet  the  service  was  not  exceptional. 
There  were  nicks  on  the  edges  of  the  plates 
and  the  rims  of  the  cups  and  saucers  were 
chipped  in  many  places. 

He  always  tipped  his  waiter  but  never  per 
mitted  him  to  pay  his  check  and  bring  him  the 
change. 

The  cashier  was  not  a  pretty  woman,  but  she 
had  that  something  which,  for  lack  of  a  better 
expression,  is  called  "  interesting."  She 
seemed  to  have  been  accustomed  to  attend 
ance  rather  than  to  attending,  and  her  softly 
spoken  "  Thank  you,"  bespoke  refinement  and 
a  magnetic  personality.  Courtney's  bow  of 
acknowledgment  was  courteous  and  devoid  of 
patronage.  For  more  than  a  year  this  had 
continued,  and  the  regular  routine  had  been 
159 


IN  BOHEMIA 

varied  only  by  an  occasional  "  Good  evening," 
when  she  was  not  preoccupied  with  her  duties 
at  the  desk. 

For  a  week  or  so,  Courtney  had  noticed  that 
the  flush  of  colour  in  her  cheeks  had  gone, 
and  dark  circles  under  her  eyes  suggested  lack 
of  sleep.  He  stole  an  occasional  glimpse  at 
her  from  his  seat  at  a  corner  table,  and  pic 
tured  her  sitting  at  the  bedside  of  some  invalid 
relative  or  friend,  and  she  somehow  felt  that 
his  thoughts  were  of  her,  even  though  his  gaze 
was  turned  aside  when  she  glanced  in  his 
direction. 

A  sudden  pallor  brought  him  to  his  feet,  as 
she  clutched  at  the  side  of  the  desk,  to  save 
herself  from  falling. 

He  sprang  forward  to  save  her,  but  too  late. 
Limp  and  lifeless  she  had  fallen  to  the  floor 
and  a  little  stream  of  blood  trickled  across  her 
forehead  where  she  had  struck  the  corner  of 
the  desk.  Courtney  emptied  a  glass  of  water 
on  his  handkerchief  and  laid  it  gently  across 
the  closed  eyes. 

A  carriage  was  called,  and  she  was  lifted 

160 


IN  BOHEMIA 

into  it.  The  handkerchief  remained  upon  her 
forehead. 

The  next  day  she  was  not  in  her  accustomed 
place.  He  asked  if  she  were  ill.  No  one  knew. 

When  they  had  unfastened  her  white  linen 
collar,  some  one  had  handed  to  Courtney  the 
little  brooch  which  she  had  worn  at  her 
throat,  and  unconsciously  he  had  kept  it  in  his 
hand  as  the  carriage  was  driven  away.  At 
the  hospital  the  clerk  brusquely  informed 
Courtney  that  the  patient  had  gone  away  the 
morning  after  being  brought  there,  and  had 
left  no  address  save  that  of  the  restaurant. 

At  the  restaurant  he  was  told  that  her  prepos 
sessing  appearance  had  been  her  recommenda 
tion  and  her  faithful  service  at  the  desk  had  suf 
ficed  to  keep  for  her  a  position  which  she  had 
filled  so  acceptably.  They  had  known  her  ad 
dress  when  she  came  there,  but  she  had  moved 
recently  and  no  one  knew  the  new  one. 

And  so  it  happened  that  Courtney  began 
to  feel  that  better  coffee  was  served  elsewhere, 
and  his  circumstances  being  somewhat  im 
proved,  he  also  felt  that  he  need  not  econo- 

161 


IN  BOHEMIA 

mize  as  rigidly  as  heretofore,  and  an  a  la 
carte  dinner  began  to  appeal  to  him  more 
than  the  table  d'hote. 

Macari's  was  not  entirely  abandoned,  for 
he  still  had  the  brooch  which  must  be  returned. 
He  wondered  if  she  were  keeping  his  handker 
chief,  hoping  to  thank  him  as  she  returned 
it,  but  Macari's  knew  her  no  more,  and  at  last 
he  ceased  to  dine  there  in  the  vague  hope 
that  they  might  have  heard  something  from 
her. 

In  one  of  the  most  luxuriant  offices  in  the 
Syndicate  Building  sat  the  president  of  several 
railroads  and  the  prime  mover  in  the  most 
skilfully  conducted  consolidation  scheme  of 
the  century,  in  the  person  of  William  Court 
ney,  who  had  climbed  the  ladder  of  fortune 
in  half  the  time  usually  allotted  even  to  those 
who  not  only  attain  but  deserve  success.  A 
rap  on  the  door  of  the  private  office  roused 
him  from  a  dream  of  recollection.  He  was 
back  at  Macari's,  a  struggler  again.  He  was 
a  struggler  now.  He  would  be,  until  he  died, 
but  now  he  was  struggling  for  others;  strug- 

162 


IN  BOHEMIA 

gling  to  give  to  the  many  the  luxuries  he  had 
longed  for  when  even  the  necessities  were 
not  easy  of  attainment. 

The  boy  at  the  door  handed  him  a  card. 
He  flicked  his  cigar  from  the  window,  and 
said:  "Show  the  lady  in." 

Timidly,  though  not  nervously,  a  woman 
of  some  twenty-eight  years  stepped  to  the 
desk  and  handed  him  an  envelope. 

Courtney  rose  and  drew  a  chair  forward 
as  he  read  aloud: 

"My  dear  Courtney:  —  If  the  wear  and  tear 
of  sentiment  should  ever  assail  that  heart  of 
yours,  you  would  turn  to  me  for  sonnets  to  the 
lady's  eyebrow.  Stocks  and  bonds  are  as 
familiar  to  you  as  metre  and  rhyming  lines 
to  me.  Do  me  a  favour,  then,  and  tell  Miss 
Van  Dyne  if  these  stocks,  which  have  been 
in  her  trunk  for  years,  are  worth  the  paper 
they  are  printed  on." 

One   glance   sufficed   to   bring   Courtney   to 

his    feet.      "  Miss    Van    Dyne,"  —  the   man    of 

wealth    and    position    spoke    as    eagerly   as    a 

schoolboy    who    has    won    his    first    prize  — 

163 


IN  BOHEMIA 

"  Miss  Van  Dyne,  you  hold  in  complete  pos 
session  here  the  key  to  one  of  the  most 
important  combinations  which  has  ever  baf 
fled  the  plutocrats  of  Wall  Street.  These 
stocks  represent  the  missing  link  in  a  chain 
which  will  make  you  as  rich  as  you  could 
choose  to  be.  For  months  we  have  sought  in 
vain  for  the  holder  of  these  certificates.  We 
had  traced  them  to  a  young  Hdy  who  was  once 
a  cashier  at  Macari's.  They  were  transferred 
to  her  by  a  distant  relative.  The  accrued 
dividends  and  interest  make  it  a  matter  of  a 
few  hours'  work  with  your  scissors  to  own  a 
railroad  or  build  a  town,  if  you  should  so  wish." 

The  young  woman  had  started  forward,  and, 
as  he  finished,  she  gasped,  breathlessly:  "Is 
it  really,  really  true?" 

She  almost  staggered  forward,  grasping  as 
she  did  so  the  corner  of  Courtney's  desk. 
Something  in  the  movement  brought  back 
another  such  spasmodic  grasp  in  the  long 
ago.  Something  in  the  pallor  of  her  face  and 
expression  of  her  eyes  brought  back  as  by  a 
lightning  flash  that  evening  at  Macari's. 

164 


For  an  instant  no  word  was  spoken.  Across 
the  stretch  of  years  the  threads  of  memory 
were  knitting  together  into  the  warp  and 
woof  of  recollection. 

Then  Courtney,  turning  to  a  little  drawer 
in  his  desk,  took  out  the  little  brooch. 

"  See,"  he  said.  "  It  has  been  my  talisman. 
At  first  I  carried  it  with  me,  simply  in  the  hope 
of  meeting  you,  that  I  might  return  it,  but  as 
weeks  and  months  flew  by,  and  as  success  after 
success  crowned  my  efforts,  and  disappoint 
ment  attended  the  few  times  when  it  was  not 
with  me,  I  grew  superstitious,  until  no  trans 
action  of  importance  has  taken  place  in  my 
business  career  unless  this  little  brooch  was 
within  reach  of  my  hand;  but  now  — "  and 
he  held  it  between  his  thumb  and  finger  as 
though  to  drop  it  in  her  hand. 

Placing  both  hands  behind  her,  Miss  Van 
Dyne  said  slowly: 

"  And  if  it  has  proven  such  a  blessing  to 
you,  or  even  if  it  has  only  seemed  to  do  so, 
do  you  think  I  could  take  it  away?  " 

"  But  you  must,"  said  Courtney.  "  I  feel 
165 


IN  BOHEMIA 

certain  that  good  fortune  can  only  follow 
whomsoever  holds  it  rightfully." 

"  You  hold  it  rightfully,"  persisted  the 
young  woman.  "  In  a  little  box  at  home,  I 
have  a  handkerchief  which  has  been  awaiting 
its  owner.  It  was  a  fair  exchange." 

"  There  will  be  a  meeting  of  directors  in  this 
office  to-morrow,  Miss  Van  Dyne.  You  or 
your  representative  should  be  here.  If  I  may 
represent  you  in  this  matter  and  if  you  will 
be  guided  by  me  in  the  disposal  of  this  prop 
erty,  the  talisman  will  have  brought  all  the 
good  fortune  a  mortal  man  could  hope  for. 
Under  these  circumstances  you  will  not  surely 
fly  in  the  face  of  the  good  luck  which  has 
come  to  you." 

That  night  the  delivery  wagon  of  a  promi 
nent  florist  stopped  in  front  of  Miss  Van 
Dyne's  hotel,  and  from  the  stems  of  a  score  of 
American  Beauties  dangled  a  little  box  con 
taining  an  inexpensive  little  brooch. 

Next  day  a  box  was  delivered  by  a  messen 
ger  boy  at  the  office  in  the  Syndicate  Building, 

166 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  in  the  box  was  a  handkerchief,  a  power  of 
attorney,  and  an  inexpensive  little  brooch. 

Three  months  later  the  chimes  of  Grace 
Church  pealed  out  the  harmonies  which  told 
to  those  who  heard,  that  wedding-bells  were 
ringing,  and,  as  the  bride  stepped  from  her 
carriage,  a  careful  observer  might  have  seen 
at  her  throat  an  inexpensive  little  brooch. 


167 


V          *   sf"''~~~\ 

V 


THE  REAL  THING 

There  are  only  four  hundred  real  iron  pots, 
That  float  in  the  stream  of  style, 

168 


IN  BOHEMIA 

And  some  of  those  pots, 
They  are  pretty  tough  lots, 
Though  they  float  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

If,  gifted  like  Homer  or  Solomon  wise, 
You're  bidden  to  breakfast  or  lunch, 
"  Entertainer!  "  you  hear;  — 
"Very  bright!"  for  your  ear;  — 
But,  my!     You  don't  mix  with  the  bunch. 

And  woe  to  the  pot  that  is  made  out  of  clay, 
Who  dares  to  join  in  with  the  throng, 

If  the  book  that  is  blue 

Doesn't  recognize  you, 
You  will  float  —  I  don't  think  —  very  long. 

But  how  do  they  get  to  be  real  iron  pots? 
It's  a  sort  of  inherited  taint, 
And  a  carload  of  "  coosh," 
Without  some  one  to  push, 
Wouldn't  let  in  a  canonized  saint. 

In  fact,  I   don't  think  the  old  saints,  if  they 

could, 

Would  care  to  mix  up  with  these  pots. 
169 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Brass,  China,  and  Delf, 
On  the  old  kitchen  shelf, 
Have  a  happier  time  of  it  —  lots. 

And  the  four  hundred  pots,  in  the  social  swim, 
Many  thanks  to  paint,  powder,  and  pride, 
May  look  like  a  dream, 
As  they  float  down  the  stream, 
But    they're    horribly    battered,    inside. 


170 


UN  PETIT   SALON 


Within  a  hundred  miles  of  the  Times  build 
ing,  on  Sunday  nights,  if  you  are  of  the  elect, 
171 


IN  BOHEMIA 

you  may  find  an  evening  of  Bohemian  enjoy 
ment  where  well-known  actors,  musicians, 
playwrights,  composers,  and  writers,  gather 
about  the  strong  personality  of  the  hostess. 

There  is  no  set  programme.  Those  who  can 
entertain  do  so  at  the  right  time  for  best  effect, 
and  wit,  wine,  and  salad  fill  in  the  gaps.  Some 
of  the  men  are  playing  in  leading  attractions 
of  the  stage  and  have  made  pronounced  hits. 
There  is  a  handsome  young  fellow  standing 
in  the  corner  who  has  been  the  leading  attrac 
tion  in  three  big  productions  during  the  last 
year,  and  he  has  made  good.  Near  him 
stands  a  man  of  whose  performances  every 
body,  including  the  critics,  says,  "  Wonder 
ful! " 

That  young  gentleman,  who  might  be  a 
Columbia  freshman,  can  sit  down  at  the  piano 
and  hold  you  spellbound  for  an  hour.  And 
the  man  talking  to  him  has  made  as  many  hits 
at  song-writing  as  there  are  months  in  the 
year  just  past. 

The  two  ladies  just  crossing  the  room  are 
successful  stars,  and  absolutely  deserving  of 

172 


IN  BOHEMIA 

success,  for  they  are  broad-minded,  generous, 
and  bright  to  a  degree. 

I  happen  to  know  that  a  pronounced  hit  was 
made  by  a  member  of  the  cast  in  the  play  of 
the  taller  lady.  Was  she  jealous  and  did  she 
say,  "  If  you  please,  I  am  the  star  of  this 
play"? 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  went  to  the  actress  who 
had  done  so  much  toward  the  success  of  the 
play  and  said: 

"  If  there  is  anything  I  can  do  to  make  your 
part  still  stronger,  tell  me,  and  I  will  do  it." 
That  is  the  spirit  that  would  soon  give  New 
York  better  plays  on  Broadway  and  the  by 
paths. 

Some  of  the  ladies  present  have  had,  and 
have  now,  a  past.  But  how  easy  it  is  to  over 
look  that  if  they  show  in  their  well-groomed 
personalities  that  they  also  have  a  future. 
We  virtuous  twentieth-century  hypocrites 
shake  a  warning  index  finger  at  them  with  a 
reproving  smile,  but  one  day  they  marry  mil 
lionaires,  and  then  what  becomes  of  the  index 
finger?  It's  the  same  girl  with  the  same 
173 


IN  BOHEMIA 

sweet  personality.  Marriage  does  play  ink 
eraser  to  a  multitude  of  little  blots  on  the 
'scutcheon,  doesn't  it?  And  how  easily  we 
overlook  the  fact  that  a  reigning  queen  of 
song  or  a  bright  light  in  the  dramatic  firma 
ment  hasn't  the  time  to  marry  her  sweet 
heart.  Household  cares  are  supposed  to  dull 
temperamental  brilliancy,  and  we  gladly  ex 
cuse  anything  for  the  extra  brilliance. 

I  imagine  those  salons  of  the  Louis'  were 
really  no  brighter  than  this  right  here,  only 
time  has  lent  a  glamour,  and  political  intrigue 
gave  more  importance  to  them. 

In  those  old  days,  the  grande  dames  wrote 
their  memoirs  and  were  proud  of  them.  Novf- 
adays,  they  relive  them  and  take  them  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

After  all,  it  is  the  same  spirit  pervading  the 
atmosphere.  The  same  sly  whispers  excite 
fond  hopes.  The  same  magnetic  touches  of 
finger-tips  reshape  careers,  the  same  soulful 
looks  drift  into  the  eyes  for  the  same  causes, 
and  the  same  complications  ensue. 

The  Prodigal  Son  and  some  of  the  Louis' 

174 


IN  BOHEMIA 

and  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Aaron  Burr  were 
all  a  little  too  Bohemian  in  their  history-mak 
ing  episodes,  but  were  they  any  different  or 
any  more  important  than  the  daily  happen 
ings  at  our  elbows?  Sufficient  unto  the  day 
is  the  excitement  thereof. 


You  never  miss  the  waiter  till  your  throat 
gets  dry. 


It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive 
a  black  eye. 


A   stitch   in   time   saves  —  embarrassment. 

175 


WITH  THE  PUNCH 

Roman  Punch!     Historic  brew. 

Even   Caesar  tried  a  few. 
When  his  race  in  life  was  run, 
After  Brutus  gave  him  one, 

He  protested  he  et  tu. 


DEAR  LITTLE  DUTCH 

He  met  the  sweet  maid  and  addressed  her  with 
"  Sie  " 

In  his  distant,  respectful  Teutonic, 
Too  deeply  in  love  to  imagine  that  she 

Preferred  pronouns  not  quite  so  platonic. 

So  she  daintily,  guilelessly  let  fall  a  "  Du," 
'Twas  a  plan  that  she  thought  he'd  be  won 

by, 

It  was  certainly  proper  and  scriptural  too, 
To  "  Du  "  just  as  she  would  be  done  by. 

176 


Xuts  «w»  it  at  sins 


111 


THAT  IT  IS  ALL  RICJHT  ToR.  U5  TO 
'"BOHEME"ATNJC;HT1FWECAN 
5LEEPINJHEDAYTIME 
SPtfS  HE  V/OULD  RATHEfc  LIVE  . 
IN  BOHEMIA.  THAN,  ANroTriER  LAND 
BUr  J  VOULD  LIKE  To  TAKE  ATR/P 
.  IFJ  LIVED  THERE. 


JbME  MEN  ARE  BORN  BOWEMIAN  J, 
JOME  ACHIEVE  IT,  WHILC  OTHERS 
HAVE  BOHEMIA 


Sad  Breaks  and  Excuses 


Touch  of  the  Bohemian 


CAFE  DES  AMBASSADEURS 

Just  at  this  writing  the  Cafe  des  Ambassa- 
deurs  is  the  Cafe  de  Paris  of  New  York,  with 
the  modifications  that  chilly  New  York  natu 
rally  places  on  Bohemianism  as  compared  with 
the  do-as-you-like  atmosphere  of  Paris. 

If  the  monde  and  the  demi-monde  draw  the 
lines  of  contact  between  circumferences  a 
little  more  loosely,  and  if  the  cigarette  were 
as  prevalent  as  some  of  the  ladies  could  wish 
it,  you  would  have  to  engage  a  table  a  week 
ahead. 

Even  as  it  is,  you  must  be  on  good  terms 
with  the  captain  to  have  your  table  kept  for 
you  a  minute  after  seven  o'clock  for  dinner, 
while  for  supper  the  lines  are  drawn  even 
more  tightly. 

There  is  an  outside  cafe  that  commands  a 
view  of  the  inside  room,  in  case  you  get  into 
town  late  and  don't  care  to  don  evening  dress. 
179 


IN  BOHEMIA 

The  chef  is  a  marvel,  and  the  service 
prompt  and  courteous.  The  proprietor,  well 
known  through  his  catering  in  Boston  and  his 
acquisition  of  the  Arena,  gives  his  personal 
supervision  to  this  new,  bright,  breezy,  and 
enjoyable  place.  The  orchestra  which  has 
delighted  for  so  long  at  the  Boulevard  is  here, 
and  if  possible  the  music  and  the  choice  of 
selections  is  better  than  ever. 

It  is  not  Bohemia,  but  it  has  a  touch  of  the 
Bohemian.  You  are  at  loss  to  explain  why. 
There  are  evenings  when  Bohemianism  is  in 
the  air  and  seems  eager  to  assert  itself.  For 
eigners  are  surprised  that  the  cigarettes  are 
tabooed  for  ladies,  for  they  seem  to  belong 
with  the  demi-tasse  at  supper,  even  if  not 
quite  possible  at  the  dinner  hour. 


180 


Maw  sez  thet  I'm  a  awful  brat 

An'   jes'   a   frackshus   kid. 
Paw  sez  I  scarcely  got  no  sense 

An'   almos'   allus    did. 
An'  all  this  fuss  is  jes'  bekuz 

I  never  tell  no  lies, 
But  speak  right  out  an'  then  they  jes' 

Lick  me  fer  exercise. 

Dear  me!    What  can  be  the  matter? 
Mother  sez  I  talk  too  much  an'  father  says 

I   chatter. 
What's  a  little  gurrl  to  say,  excep'  w'at's  in 

her  head? 
Upon  my  word,  I  hope  to  die.    I  wish  'at 

I   was   dead! 

One  day,  maw  took  me  to  a  show; 
I  guess  'twas  Union  Square, 
181 


IN  BOHEMIA 


An'  who  paw  took,  I  didn'  know, 

But  she  had  yello'  hair. 
An'  I  sez:  "Ain't  she  purrty,  maw? 

Why  don't  they  sit  with  us? 
What  makes  her  purrtier  than  you?" 

Thet  made   a  awful  fuss. 
I  wrote  to  paw  frum  Buzzard's  Bay, 

Thet  maw  wuz  much  admired 
An'  stayed  up  nights  till  ha'f  pas'  two, 

She  mus'  be  awful  tired! 
When  we  come  back  to  town  in  fall, 

Paw  scowled  an'  sed  he  guess't 
Nex'  summer  thet  maw  wouldn'  need 

A  powerful  lot  o'  rest. 

One   day   the   minister,  he   called, 
An'  maw  talked  jes'  like  that! 

The  same  as  when  she's   coaxin'  paw 
Fer  money  fer  a  hat. 

An'  kitty  scratched  me  an'  I  sez, 

"  Oh,  damn  it!  "  jes'  like  that. 

Maw  licked  me  till  I  couldn'  see 
An'  gave  away  my  cat. 


182 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Some  folks  they  has  gymnasiums 

To  make  their  muscles  strong, 
But  paw  an'  maw  has  only  me, 

I  shan't  las'  very  long. 
An'  when  I'm  jes'  a  angel  child, 

A-floatin'  in  the  skies, 
I'm  wonderin'  what  they're  goin'  to  do 

Fer  reg'lar  exercise. 


183 


THE  STROLLERS 

Millionaire  Bohemians  are  always  interest 
ing,  and  at  the  Strollers'  Club,  John  Jacob 
Astor  becomes  "  Jack  "  regardless  of  his  mil 
lions,  and  Schwab,  the  magnate,  is  "  Charlie," 
—  and  they  like  it. 

To  speak  of  the  president  of  the  Strollers 
as  Robert  Sands,  Esq.,  would  seem  like  arti 
ficial  dignity,  for  to  the  world  in  general  and 
the  club  in  particular,  he  is  "  Bob." 

In  his  Pooh  Bah  personality  at  the  club, 
he  is  the  centre  pole  around  which  revolves 
the  four  hundred  of  society,  hand  in  hand  with 
the  art  world  of  Bohemia,  in  a  merry-go- 
round  as  unique  as  it  is  delightful,  and  the 
moment  he  affixes  his  "  O.  K."  to  a  proposed 
function,  the  word  "  Success  "  may  be  written 
on  the  programme  in  advance. 

Whether  it  be  an  opera,  where  Jack  Golden's 
tuneful  numbers  set  the  feet  that  are  accus- 

184 


IN  BOHEMIA 

tomed  to  cotillions  keeping  syncopated  time, 
or  an  Italian  fete,  where  the  stars  of  the 
opera  season  are  thicker  than  bees  around  the 
garden,  or  whether  it  is  a  Cafe  Chantant, 
where  Marie  Tempest  or  May  Irwin  or  Archie 
Gunn  or  Dick  Outcault  come  out  from  the 
audience  and  do  a  stunt,  which  they  would 
have  refused  to  do  at  a  price,  the  Bohemianism 
is  there,  thanks  to  the  forethought  of  the 
power  that  is  rather  than  the  powers  that  be. 

At  times,  a  somewhat  formal  function  will 
start  the  evening's  merriment,  and  Prince 
Fushimi  and  his  staff  from  the  Orient  will  ex 
change  toasts  with  Lieutenant-Commander 
Peary,  just  returned  from  beyond  the  Arctic 
Circle.  Governor  Odell  lifts  his  glass  in  the 
genial  atmosphere  of  the  time  and  place  and 
says: 

"  I  have  followed  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  to 
my  sorrow,"  and  he  looks  at  Charlie  Schwab 
across  the  table.  Then  he  continues: 

"  But  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead,"  and 
they  both  smile  and  make  up  a  quarrel  of  years' 
standing.  It  is  the  Bohemian  touch  that  does 

185 


IN  BOHEMIA 

it.  A  cosy  little  dinner  to  Mucha,  the  king  of 
the  art  world,  in  the  grill-room  down-stairs  is 
sure  to  be  pregnant  with  good-fellowship.  At 
no  place  does  society  meet  Bohemia  on  such 
intimate  terms  as  at  the  Strollers.  The  broad 
est  minds  of  one  meet  the  brightest  minds  of 
the  other,  and  both  are  satisfied.  Brains  and 
millions  are  weighed  in  the  same  scales  under 
the  hospitable  roof.  You  may  be  Harry  Black 
with  the  Flat-iron  Building  in  your  breast 
pocket,  or  you  may  be  a  humble  stroller, 
posted  for  non-payment  of  your  house  ac 
count,  but  if  you  have  made  good  it  is,  "  Hello, 
old  chap!"  and  not  ''  How  do  you  do,  sir!" 
at  the  Strollers. 


186 


INJURED  INNOCENCE 

To  Her  (indignant) 

Oh!     Very  well!     If  you  distrust, 
I  leave  you,  though  my  heart  should  break. 
187 


IN  BOHEMIA 

We  will  acknowledge,  since  we  must, 
That  all  has  been  a  grave  mistake. 

I  burned  my  bridges,  when  we  met, 

Life  now,  for  me,  begins  anew. 
Sometime,   perchance,   you   will   regret 

The  words  that  drove  me  far  from  you. 

How  much   of   tenderness   I   gave, 
How  much  of  faithfulness  and  trust, 

It  matters  not,  but  o'er  its  grave, 
We'll  sing  the  requiem,  since  we  must 

To  Himself  (delighted) 

By  Jove!     It  was  a  lucky  thing 

She  waded  into  me  that  way, 
It  gave  me  just  the  opening 

That  I  have  longed  for,  many  a  day. 


188 


Eotmcco 


r 


J>  Little  Cloudy, 


They  Twinkle 


THE  PLEIADES 

The  Pleiades  Club  was  organized  to  promote 
and  foster  and  exploit  the  spirit  of  Bohemian- 
ism.  The  supper  or  dinner  is  not  elaborate, 
but  furnishes  the  legitimate  excuse  for  gather 
ing  together  congenial  souls  who  can  listen 
well,  and  those  who,  in  case  of  need,  can 
mount  the  platform  and  entertain. 

It  is  only  natural  that  now  and  then  an 
evening  should  drag.  It  is  impossible  for 
professional  managers  to  strike  a  bull's-eye 
every  time.  There  is,  therefore,  plenty  of  ex 
cuse  for  those  who  give  their  time  and  energy 
simply  out  of  their  loyalty  to  the  club  if  an 
occasional  Sunday  night  falls  below  concert 
pitch. 

The  motto  of  the  old  Edenia  Club  prevails: 
"  Talk  to  your  neighbour."  The  necessity 
for  formal  introduction  is  waived,  and  I  have 
never  seen  it  outraged.  The  list  of  guests  in- 

191 


IN  BOHEMIA 

vited  is  supposed  to  contain  none  that  would 
be  unwilling  to  know  each  other.  The  club 
had  its  birth  in  old  Maria's  on  Twelfth  Street 
in  the  days  of  the  early  nineties,  when  only  a 
few  clever  authors  and  wits  had  found  the 
place  and  claimed  it  for  their  own.  The  club 
does  not  pretend  to  offer  a  vaudeville  entertain 
ment,  and  some  who  attend  in  that  expecta 
tion  go  away  better  satisfied  than  if  they  had 
found  what  they  came  for.  After  the  coffee, 
a  song  or  a  speech  or  a  story  is  the  idea, 
though  the  violin  or  the  cello  or  the  saxo 
phone  and  the  ever  faithful  piano  have  done 
yeoman  service  in  the  ten  years  of  the  club's 
existence.  It  is  intended  to  be  a  play  place 
for  all  those  who  make  the  world  laugh  or 
think,  and  also  for  those  who  appreciate. 
There  is  a  guest  of  honour  each  week,  and  the 
notables  of  the  world  have  taken  their  turns 
in  being  entertained. 


192 


MY  PIPE 

Aye!     Bring  my  pipe,  that  fills   the   air   with 

clouds, 
Wherein  my  hopes  and  aims  take  shape  and 

size, 
Where  joyous  thoughts  are  born  in  gladdening 

crowds, 
And    restful    calm    broods    o'er    my   drowsy 

eyes, 

And  let  the  fragrant  weed's  narcotic  power 
Soothe  every  sorrow  from  my  mind  away 
While  dreams  Arcadian,  with  their  subtle 

sway, 

Remove  all  burdens,  for  one  blissful  hour. 
Let  fleecy,  film-like  clouds  around  me  roll, 
And  lift  to  starry  heights  my  weary  soul. 

Oh!       Glorious    gift!       Relief    of    o'erworked 

minds, 
What  wonder  thou  art  ever  held  most  dear, 

193 


IN  BOHEMIA 

The  soul,  in  rapture  deep,  thy  presence  binds, 

As  softest  music  soothes  the  listening  ear, 
The  flattering  touch  of  thy  ambrosial  breath 
Brings  sweetest  slumber  and  divine  repose. 
Across  each  sense,  the  cooling  incense  flows, 
Alluring  care,  unwitting  to  its  death, 
'Tis  thine  to  give  relief  from  labours  long 
And  hear  thy  praise,  in  joyous  bursts  of  song. 


As,  on  the  beach,  the  shifting,  restless  sands 
Are  left  serene  and  smooth  when  tides  re 
tire, 
So  ruffling  cares  and  life's  austere  demands, 

Beneath  thy  subtle  waves  of  smoke  expire, 
Soft  melodies  sink  deeply  in  the  heart. 
The   spreading   landscape   glads   the   gazer's 

eye. 

Old  wines  a  thousand  comforts  may  supply, 
And  roses  rare  their  sweet  perfume  impart, 
But  granting  all  the  charms  they  hold  for  me, 
My  soul  gives  thanks  and  shares  them  all,  with 
thee. 

194 


Benedictine  and  Curacao, 

Brandy,  Kummel,  or  green  Chartreuse, 
What  does  it  matter,  for  now  you  know, 

The  feast  is  over,  so  what's  the  use  ? 


Out  of  Bohemia 


CAFE  DES  BEAUX  ARTS 

Before  the  Cafe  des  Beaux  Arts  had  a  crystal 
canopy  to  protect  its  guests  en  route  to  and 
from  their  private  equipages,  you  dropped 
into  a  basement  in  quite  Bohemian  fashion. 
You  joined  in  the  chorus  of  popular  airs,  and 
you  didn't  dream  of  ordering  champagne. 

Then  dainty  little  souvenirs  began  to  appear 
and  the  ladies  of  a  party  were  sent  home 
delighted  with  some  trifling  novelty.  Such 
is  the  Queendom  of  woman.  She  will  drag 
a  three  hundred  dollar  gown  in  the  dust  and 
dirt  rather  than  lose  her  grip  on  a  twenty- 
five  cent  novelty,  which  she  throws  away 
next  day. 

The  chef  was  ingenious  and  the  cuisine  was 
good,  and  New  York  began  to  find  it  out  so 
fast  that  a  noble  staircase  was  built  leading 
to  the  floor  above,  where  the  overflow  is  cared 
for.  It  is  very  like  the  French  cafes  in  its 

197 


IN  BOHEMIA 

atmosphere,  and  very  satisfying  from  many 
points  of  view. 

To  many  it  is  Bohemia.  To  others  it  is  only 
Bohemian,  while  others  find  only  touches  of 
Bohemianism  here  and  there.  There  is  a  dis 
tinction  in  the  different  grades.  Once  on  a 
time  it  was  considered  almost  slumming  to 
go  to  the  Chat  Noir  for  dinner.  The  Cafe  des 
Beaux  Arts  did  not  begin  in  that  way,  how 
ever.  It  started  with  cream,  fine  linen,  and 
waiters  who  re-cover  your  table  at  once  when 
wine  is  spilled. 

It  is  a  good  idea,  too,  for  Bohemia  needn't 
reek  to  radiate  comfort  and  contentment. 


The  game  isn't  worth  the  —  scandal. 


Evil   communications  construct  bad  —  man 
nerisms. 

198 


A  TOAST  TO  TO-NIGHT 

If  need  be,  we'll  wait  for  the  break  of  the  morn 
To  toast  our  to-morrow,  as  soon  as  it's  born, 
But  while  we  are  waiting,  there's  no  time  to 

think, 
Except  when  we're  thinking  what  next  we  will 

drink. 

To-day  we  were  happy.    To-night  we  are  glad. 
To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  cause  to  be  sad. 
So  drink  and  be  joyful.     Imagine  our  plight 
If  Time  found  us  toasting  to-morrow  to-night. 


199 


THE  BOWERY  OF  DAMASCUS 

Damascus,  in  Asia  Minor,  is  perhaps  the 
oldest  city  in  the  world,  and  yet  I  could  have 
imagined  that  the  Bowery  was  just  outside  the 
smoky,  oil-lamp-lighted  hall  with  its  little 
stage,  where  women  of  all  nations  did  the 
dances  of  their  country. 

Inside,  the  character  of  the  patronage  proved 
that  it  was  not  the  Bowery. 

The  red  fez,  which  is  worn  continuously, 
gives  an  air  of  liveliness  to  every  gathering. 
You  do  not  remove  your  fez,  even  in  the 
presence  of  the  Sultan.  I  say  "  your "  fez 
advisedly,  for  you  would  be  astonished  to 
see  how  easily  Americans  adapt  themselves 
to  the  custom  and  wear  a  fez  in  the  Orient. 

"  One  of  the  boys "  at  the  hotel  suggests 
a  little  slumming,  and  you  imagine  you  are 
going  to  see  something  very  wicked.  Through 
a  long,  ill-smelling  corridor  you  find  your 

200 


IN  BOHEMIA 

way  to  the  still  dirtier  hall,  and  women  dance 
in  the  ugly  ankle-length  dress,  or  with  a  train, 
for  there  is  a  strict  law  in  Syria  against  short 
skirts.  To  be  sure,  the  very  full-chested 
ladies  try  to  atone  for  the  length  below  by 
the  brevity  above,  but  the  twinkling  feet  of 
American  and  French  dancers  put  these 
clumsy,  large-footed  women  to  shame.  But 
there  is  hidden  meaning  to  some  of  their 
motions,  for  while  you  think  the  whole  thing 
is  very  tame  there  is  suddenly  a  storm  of 
appreciation,  shown  by  grunts  and  hisses  that 
would  scare  an  American  actor  off  the  stage. 
After  each  dance,  the  betinselled  lady,  in  her 
cheap  silk  or  still  cheaper  woollen  dress, 
passes  through  the  audience  with  a  tin  cup  for 
gratuities,  and,  according  to  the  hit  she  has 
made,  the  cup  fills  rapidly  or  slowly,  but  it 
fills,  for  she  stands  by  with  great  pleading 
eyes,  like  those  of  a  stalled  ox,  until  you  drop 
a  coin,  no  matter  how  small,  into  the  cup. 

It  is   after  twelve   o'clock  when  you   leave. 
You  have  stayed  on  and  on  in  the  belief  that 
as    it    grew    later    the    fun    would    wax    more 
201 


IN  BOHEMIA 

furious,  as  it  does  in  America,  but  the  last 
is  like  unto  the  first  and  you  have  wasted 
an  evening,  except  for  the  fact  that  you  have 
learned  something  of  the  customs  of  the 
country. 

Of  course  there  are  private  exhibitions, 
managed,  no  doubt,  by  Europeans,  to  delight 
the  tourist  at  a  price,  but  they  are  not  open 
to  the  public  at  a  fixed  rate  of  admission  as 
this  place  was.  When  you  leave,  a  self-con 
scious  feeling  of  shamefacedness  comes  over 
you  for  having  tried  to  be  wicked  and  found 
nothing  more  suggestive  than  a  prayer-meet 
ing. 


202 


JAMAIS!    TOUT  LA  VIE 

Upon  zee  street,  I  chance  to  meet 

Un  tres  grande  cavalier. 
He  teep  hees  hat  to  me  like  zat 

An'  say  to  me:     "My  dear, 
Eet  seem  to  be  zat  you  an'  me, 

We  travel  zee  same  way. 
Don't  take  zee  car!    Eet  ees  too  far. 

Attendez  vous!    Coupe!" 

(With  great  indignation) 

"Jamais!     Jamais!"     I  queeckly  say, 
"  Zat  weel  not  do  for  me. 
Coupes  for  us  are  dangerous, 

Oh!    Jamais!    tout  la  vie! 
Zat  weel  not  do,  my  dear  M'sieu! 

W'at  can  you  teenk  of  me? 
Nevare!    Nevare!    I  would  not  dare. 

Oh!    Jamais!    tout  la  vie!" 
203 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Zen  he  say,  "Please!"    An'  try  to  tease. 

Zat  charmant  zhentleman. 
He  catch  my  eye  an'  say:  "  Please  try 

Forgeeve  me,  eef  you  can." 
He  spik  to  me  so  pleasantlee, 

I  step  in  zee  coupe. 
Zee  feerst  I  know,  away  we  go, 

An'  zen  I  haf  to  say: 


(With  less  indignation) 

'Jamais!    Jamais!"    I  haf  to  say. 
"  Zis  weel  not  do  for  me. 
Coupes  for  us  are  dangerous, 

Oh!     Jamais!    tout  la  vie! 
Zis  weel  not  do,  my  dear  M'sieu, 

Wat  can  you  teenk  of  me? 
Nevare!     Nevare!     I  would  not  dare' 

Oh!    Jamais!    tout  la  vie!" 


A  girl  reseest  w'en  she  is  keest, 
At  least,  a  leetle  w'ile; 

204 


IN  BOHEMIA 

She  cannot  stan'  zee  zhentleman, 

00  'as  zee  lofely  smile. 

So,  w'en  he  tell  to  me:    "  Ma'mselle, 

1  keep  you  from  all  harms." 
I  tremble  so  I  do  not  know 

He  hold  me  een  hees  arms. 

(With  no  indignation) 

"Jamais!    Jamais!"    I  softly  say. 
"  Zis  weel  not  do  for  me. 
Coupes  for  us  are  dangerous, 

Oh!     Jamais!    tout  la  vie! 
Zis  weel  not   do,  my   dear   M'sieu, 

Wat  can  you  teenk  of  me?  " 
He  say:    "  Ma'mselle,  I  weel  not  tell. 

Oh!   Jamais!   tout  la  vie!" 


205 


THE  LAST  BOHEMIAN 

"The  gnarled  oak  shall  end  its  growing; 
The  swirling  stream  shall  stop  its  flowing; 
The  winds  of  Heaven  shall  cease  their  blow 
ing; 
When  chaos  comes  again." 

For  the  foibles  of  fashion  have  passed  away, 

And  palaces  prone  in  dust, 
By  their  carven,  crumbling  fragments  say 

That  the  March  of  Time  is  just. 
My  cloven  hoof  and  my  hair-clad  form 

Lead  back  to  the  Mark  of  the  Beast; 
But  one  thing  lives,  for  my  heart  is  warm, 

For  the  nymph  who  shares  my  feast. 

I  found  in  a  broken,  corpseless  tomb, 

A  record  of  splendours  past; 
Where  the  words  of  men  foretold  their  doom, 

But  of  men,  I  am  the  last. 

206 


IN  BOHEMIA 

Whence  came  the  earth,  no  man  has  known; 

Whence  goes  it,  none  shall  say; 
Its  pomp  has  flown.    What  need  of  a  throne 

For  the  king  who  pipes  this  lay: 

"The  gnarled  oak  shall  end  its  growing; 
The  swirling  stream  shall  stop  its  flowing; 
The  winds  of  Heaven  shall  cease  their  blow 
ing; 
When   chaos   comes  again." 


'For  the  foibles  of  fashion  have  passed  away1 


207 


